


We'll Burn That Bridge When We Get To It

by eternalribbit



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Child Abuse, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Roxy Lalonde, Other, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalribbit/pseuds/eternalribbit
Summary: Fresh out of the hospital following a near death experience and years of addiction, Dave is ready to start over and move on with his life. Turns out, it's harder than it sounds.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, John Egbert/Dirk Strider, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 24
Kudos: 85





	1. Come Back to Earth

**Author's Note:**

> ok so first thing's first: Major TWs for drug use  
> it might get a little graphic in here. proceed with caution. I will update tags as i go  
> we will try to keep it light, but this one will probably go some dark places. it gets worse before it gets better and all that. i am speaking to my own experiences in some of this but please dont mistake me for an authority on any sort of addiction. 
> 
> cheers & as always, comments & kudos keep me goin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ **_My regrets look just like texts I shouldn't send  
>  And I got neighbors, they're more like strangers  
>  We could be friends  
>  I just need a way out of my head  
>  I'll do anything for a way out  
>  Of my head  
>    
>  In my own way, this feel like livin'  
>  Some alternate reality  
>  And I was drownin', but now I'm swimmin'  
>  Through stressful waters to relief  
>  Yeah, oh, the things I'd do  
>  To spend a little time in Hell  
>  And what I won't tell you  
>  I'll prolly never even tell myself_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4ocPPhtglU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so first thing's first: Major TWs for drug use  
> it might get a little graphic in here. proceed with caution. I will update tags as i go  
> we will try to keep it light, but this one will probably go some dark places. it gets worse before it gets better and all that. also, please dont mistake me for an authority on any sort of addiction.
> 
> cheers & as always, comments & kudos keep me goin
> 
> ((EDITED 2/2/2021: doing some reformatting, minor edits & adding songs to each chapter. because i hadnt already leaned hard enough into making this a songfic LOL))

**_Chapter One_ **

If there was anything in life that Dave relished in anymore, it was music.

Sure, he had a variety of other hobbies. After rehab, he’d taken up knitting, at the behest of his cousin, and he was actually getting pretty good at it. For extra cash here and there, he would travel around the local area doing wedding photography and proms and any other lame way to make a quick buck with a camera. It was fun, but it brought less joy than, say, collecting weird taxidermy did, which was also an honorable mention on his list of extracurriculars. None of them held a candle to the way music still got into his head, filled his chest cavity like his very breath. It pulled him like the tides, from high highs to low lows, and kept him afloat when the water got too deep. It was his one true love, if he was feeling poetic about it, which he often was.

For months after his return home, Dave had begged his brother to let him come back to the club with him on the weekends. Before, that was how the two of them paid their rent; spinning records in nightclubs all around town, emceeing drag shows and strip clubs, anything they could. The two of them were legendary in the local nightclub scene, never one seen without the other, always working in tandem to create an incredible atmosphere, and, for a lack of a better term, some pretty fucking sick beats. Unfortunately, Dave’s little trip to inpatient treatment had cost them their dual act, and Dirk was less than willing to budge. It may not have been so bad, he supposed, if Dave’s final straw hadn’t happened on the clock. Maybe he would have been more understanding if he had shit the bed, so to speak, in the comfort of their own home, but unfortunately, the timing couldn’t have been worse. It happened in front of God and everybody, including their boss, who had the bouncers literally throw him out on his ass in the street, screaming and cursing in a drug and booze addled rage. That night had almost cost Dirk everything too, but being the smooth talker he was by nature, he was able to keep the bartender and the owner placated enough that both agreed not to slander the Strider name. Or worse, press charges.

Eventually, though, Dave’s wheedling and pleading got to him. As tough and hardheaded as Dirk was, Dave was his twin brother, and therefore knew exactly how to get into his head. Eventually, the begging was too much, and Dirk finally relented, albeit with a warning.

“We have to set some ground rules before we go in tonight,” Dirk said as they loaded up the car together. Dave was happy enough to be carrying heavy stage equipment, if it meant he got to get out of the damn house for a weekend. The siblings’ shared apartment was only so large, and Dave had begun to go stir crazy. He felt like a fox stuck in a snare, ready to chew its own leg off to escape, but with far lower stakes. A man could only knit so many scarves and really long, weird socks before it stopped being a great joke and just became kind of depressing. Even his cousin Rose didn’t find them funny anymore, and had the audacity to ask him when he was going back to work. The nerve of some people, honestly. 

“Oh, come on, have I not already paid the price? Jesus Dirk, please, I learned my lesson,” Dave huffed, shutting the trunk. “I know you’ll all be watching me like hawks, I’m not that stupid. Besides, we’re at the six-month mark. How much of an idiot would I be to throw that all away? I got my new chip and everything.”

“You’d be a pretty massive dipshit,” Dirk agreed, crossing his arms at his twin. Dave mirrored the action, a habit that drove the former absolutely fucking nuts. Dirk kept his expression neutral, leering at his brother through his dark lenses. “I’m serious. You are on extremely thin ice. Any thinner, and the girls at the bar will be giving you donations to save the penguins.”

“What, are you not the charitable type, bro? What the hell do you have against the penguins lately?” Dave replied, and gave his brother one of his signature smirks. Dirk did not move. “Okay, okay, fine. I know! I’ll keep it together.”

“Are you going to listen to the rules or not?” Dirk asked, still staring him down. 

Dave sighed. “Fine, what are they?”

Dirk held up a finger. “First, juice or water only. Obviously. The bartenders know you well enough to know not to serve you, but given that I’ve been burned before, I am stating it out loud for the class.”

Dave thought about the last time he had had a drink at the particular club they were playing that night. Well, Dirk was playing. Dave was just along for the ride this time, as he had yet to earn back his actual turntable privileges in public. This bar was not the one from the fateful night of his breakdown, however, he had had a pretty significant blackout and woke up on the floor of the restroom, chewing gum that he did not arrive to the club chewing. There was a phone number written on a napkin he later found in his pocket that, when he called to try and piece together the details of that night, turned out to be for a divorce attorney. He nodded along and mirrored Dirk again, holding up a finger to indicate that he had the first rule down pat.

Dirk scowled at his brother but continued. “Second, you do not leave the property without me. I will be working, but I will have eyes everywhere. We already have a booth picked out for you. I don’t care if you dance or chat with strangers or whatever, but any attempt to score, I will know. I’ll be the first to fuck you up over it, but your councilor is relying on me to keep your shit straight, and if I let her down, I honestly think she could kick both our shit in.”

Dave pondered that too. Dirk was absolutely right; Dave’s NA councilor, Jane, was a big woman, with muscular biceps the likes of which neither of them had ever seen. He was certain that if she needed to, she could probably lift a refrigerator on her own. Or, like, a really big safe. Strong and spry though they were, the Striders were a stringy, wiry bunch, and did not stand much of a chance against someone who could likely bench press them both at once. He nodded and held up the second finger in acknowledgement.

“Third, you are not to try to bring anyone home. I don’t give a shit if they’re your soulmate. They’re not, I can promise you, and, let’s be honest, your type tends to be a bit of a bad influence,” Dave gave Dirk a sly grin as he raised the third finger, wiggling it suggestively. Dirk smacked his hand. "Besides, we don't have room in the car."

“Ow! Hey, not cool—”

“Lastly,” Dirk cut him off with a dirty look. “Just do your best overall not to destroy what is left of my career, okay? For the sake of my sanity.”

“No promises,” Dave joked, waving Dirk off as he started to lecture him again. “I get it, I get it! I’ll behave, I really do promise.”

Looking unconvinced, Dirk climbed into the driver’s seat of the car and started the engine. Dave hopped in the passenger, and they were off.

The club itself was a relatively small gay bar near the local college, which Dave had dropped out of a few years prior to pursue music and, less intentionally, his newfound substance abuse habit. He had been there many times with classmates and friends, dancing and drinking the night away. Enough times that the bouncers all knew him, and still seemed to like him. He thought, as he greeted them during their setup and soundcheck, that maybe they hadn’t heard the details of his incident. Of course, that was a short-lived fantasy, as the largest of them came up and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Well Strider, did they finally cure you o’ that ol’ bottle flu yet? Seemed like you had a chronic case there for a good while,” he guffawed, making a gesture of tipping back a bottle, and the other bouncers joined in laughing. Dave scowled and slunk away to finish setting up Dirk’s turntables, muttering to himself. That was not the energy he wanted to bring into the night, but it was what he got, and he would have to roll with it. At least, he mused, they were only concerned about the bottle of it. The other stuff, well. It had taken much more of a toll. 

After Dirk was all set up, he and Dave walked to the bar together in their perfect mirror-image stride. Dirk ordered them each a bottle of water as he sat down and turned his stool around so he could see the gradually filling dance floor. It was coming up on ten p.m., so the set would be starting soon, and that was always the peak of the night. There were some booths at the edges of the room, and a few tables out on the open floor. Dirk pointed to the booth directly across from the DJ’s station. “Bethany reserved that one for us.”

“What, so you can watch me like a creep the whole time?” Dave scoffed, slurping down half of his water in one go. He was sweaty already from lugging all Dirk’s equipment, and increasingly irritated by the staring and whispering of the regulars. Even in the city, word had gotten around quickly that something had happened, given his mild celebrity. He knew that every regular in the bar was watching him, wondering why his return to the club did not equal a return to the stage. “Honestly, Dirk, I’m going to be _fine_.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you said last time,” Dirk still didn’t sound convinced. He hopped down from the stool and started to walk to the booth. “I gotta get started. Go sit down and stay out of trouble. I mean it.”

Dave resisted the urge to snark back, instead opting for the much more mature option: rolling his eyes, chugging the rest of his water, and turning back to the bartender. “Hey, Beth!”

Bethany was a tall, statuesque blonde with an incredibly sharp jawline and tattoos covering every inch of her from chin to wrist. Her hair was styled in a very retro 50’s-era bumper bang, and her outfit was very much pinup inspired, as it often was. She looked up and cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Dave, continuing to dry off a pint glass. “What, Dave?”

“You got any apple juice back there?”

Dirk had begun his set already as Dave made his way over to the booth, and the building tempo pounded in his chest as the dance floor flooded with people. Sure enough, there was a little place card with “reserved” scrawled on it in what he recognized as Dirk’s handwriting sitting on the table. Grumpily, Dave sat down, and scrolled through his phone for a while, trying to look like he wasn’t upset. It was harder than he had thought, he was realizing, to be back in this environment. The bar itself was extravagant, laden with every liquor and mixer the heart could desire. He had tried not to stare as Beth located him one of those fancy little glass globes of apple juice, which she often complained only took up fridge space for Dave himself. He thought it was sweet that after months of being MIA, they had kept some for him. Maybe Dirk had told them he was going to come with him. She had offered to pour it into a glass, but he declined. The jar was the best part. 

The first drop hit, and Dave was scanning the room, picking at the threads of his ripped jeans in anxious rapture; bodies, sweaty and glistening under Dirk’s light show, writhed and moved in time to the music. Drinks sloshed in hands, were sipped by beautiful people, painted up for a night out. His mouth went dry as he imagined dancing with one of them, kissing them, tasting the alcohol on their lips. Quickly he shook the thought off, kept scanning. He made eye contact with what turned out to be an old classmate, a guy whose name he was pretty sure was…Sal? Sol? Something like that? And whipped his gaze away, back to his phone. Judging by the look he got, that guy probably had some sort of beef with him. Dave could be damned if he remembered what it was.

Something in his stomach felt hot and sick, and he realized he was having a hard time focusing on his Twitter feed anymore. He got up from his table and skirted the crowd, then bolted for the stage door in search of fresh air. His hands shook as he tried to sneak past Dirk, knowing full well that would be near impossible. _Maybe he wouldn’t freak out if I left it propped open,_ Dave thought, and shoved a chunk of broken asphalt into the crack just enough to keep it from latching back. Only bouncers and staff had a key card, and if he got locked out, he would either have to bang on the door for help, or walk all the way around the building and go back in the front door. Satisfied, he put his back to the bricks and slid down to sit on the pavement. His heart was still racing, his hands trembling a bit as he pulled a crumpled pack of Marlboros out of his pocket and lit one. It was stale as hell, and he tried to think back to when he had bought them. It had to have been at least eight or nine months ago, before he had gone to inpatient at least, but he didn’t care. The smoke filled his lungs, and he coughed hard on the first puff. It had been a while since he’d touched the nasty things, and really wasn’t preferential to them, but they did calm his nerves somewhat. He’d always been more of a social smoker than one of habit. The rest of the drugs, however, were not as easy to put down.

As he was just feeling the first wave of a tiny nicotine high, he heard the stage door open, and someone else step out. “Uh, buddy, you aren’t supposed to be out here. Employees only, read the fucking door.”

Dave looked up. There was a man standing over him, probably about 5’7” or so. His skin was the color of rich clay, and some heavy bags had formed under his eyes, like he never got any sleep. Thick, curly black hair hung in ringlets around eyebrows, similarly thick and messy. He was stocky in build, and had his arms crossed defensively over his broad chest in a very rehearsed looking bouncer stance. It was pretty dark, but Dave could see a multitude of tiny scars and freckles on his arms, glowing in the moonlight over muscle and sinew. 

Dave nearly dropped his cigarette. “Uh,” he stammered, unsure what to say. This guy was clearly an employee, judging by the tight black t-shirt with the bar’s logo over the breast, but Dave couldn’t remember seeing him before. He must be new. He would remember a face like that. “I’m with the band,” he decided on, pointing through the cracked door at Dirk’s stand. The song had changed, and he was spinning records, alternating between scratching vinyl and tapping buttons on his midi controller in perfect, practiced time. Dave’s hands itched just thinking about it.

“Oh,” the guy said, and he suddenly seemed to realize how much Dave and Dirk looked alike. He looked back through the open door once, to confirm, then turned his eyes back to Dave. His irises were dark, almost black. Dave felt a lump in his throat. “Shit. Sorry. I just started this job. You guys are brothers, right?”

“Yeah,” Dave replied, taking another puff of his stale cigarette. For politeness’s sake, he offered one to the bouncer, who declined. “Twins, actually. Usually I’m up there with him, but…” he shrugged dismissively. Not opening that can of worms here, no sir.

“Hmm,” the other guy leaned back on the wall next to Dave, close enough he could smell his sweat and cologne. Dave tried to ignore it. ‘What vending machine did this particular snack fall out of?’ he wondered, as the bouncer slid down the wall to sit next to him. “I’m Karkat,” he offered Dave a hand to shake. 

Dave blinked at the sort of old-fashioned gesture, confused, before realizing his glasses blocked most of his expression, and he appeared to just be staring like a creep. He took the proffered hand and shook it once. “Dave. Dave Strider.”

“Nice to meet you,” Karkat said. He opened a bottle of water Dave didn’t realize he was holding and chugged it. Dave watched his Adam’s apple bob in the low light. “Jesus, it’s fucking hot in there. Do you ever get used to it?”

Dave chuckled and puffed smoke again. “Some do, some don’t,” he replied. He could remember his first venture into the club circuit, almost a decade ago now. He had been seventeen when their older Bro had started bringing him and Dirk along to gigs, using them as cheap labor to cart his gear around from show to show or bring him drinks so he didn’t have to take breaks. That first night, Dave had never sweated quite so much, he thought. “It’s a process. How long have you worked here now?”

Karkat rubbed his temples, like he was trying to banish a persistent headache, and screwed up his face. Dave couldn’t take his eyes off him. Where the fuck did Beth keep finding these stupid gorgeous men? He internally praised and cursed her. “A few weekends now. I’m in class the rest of the week. It’s fucking exhausting, but it’s money. And I get to take my rage out on the assholes sometimes, so that’s a plus.”

Dave almost smiled but thought better of it. If his past was any indication, Dave had been one of those assholes many a time, and he had definitely swung on a few poor security guards in his lifetime. He felt the memory of his last night here come back, pushed it down. “What are you in school for?” he asked, finishing his Marlboro. He lit another, again offered one to the bouncer. Karkat eyed it, then accepted it. Dave leaned over to light it for him. He could feel Karkat’s warm breath on his fingers, and his stomach swirled and flip-flopped. All he could hear was Dirk’s voice in his head, _“I don’t give a shit if they’re your soulmate. They’re not, I can promise you.”_

_God, but what if he was wrong?_ Dave shook the thought out of his head and stuck the lighter back in his pocket as Karkat took a deep drag. He sighed, and the smoke swirled into the air around them. His lips were parted slightly. Dave marveled at how plump and luscious they looked before looking away, staring across the dingy alley at a couple of cats that had begun fighting over a chicken bone and yowling. 

“I’m getting my degree in computer science,” Karkat went on. “My dad says that’s where all the money is gonna be in the next ten years, and I kind of like programming, I guess.”

“You don’t seem sold,” Dave remarked, noting in his head that he was right about this guy never sleeping. Computer science sounded like one long all-nighter, if his childhood spent dicking around with coding with his buddies was any indication. He couldn’t imagine doing it seriously.

Karkat grimaced. “It’s fucking boring, and tedious, but he’s probably right,” he took another deep drag. The cherry of his cigarette glowed bright in the dark. “I wanted to go for art, but he said if I did that, he wouldn’t pay for my housing. So. Kind of couldn’t pass it up. Dad wanted me to be a doctor, though, so he isn't jazzed about anything I do, really.”

Dave nodded. He half wondered what it was like to have any help from a parental figure like that. Bro had dipped the second the boys were in an apartment of their own and was travelling the world for all they knew. He never called, except on their birthday, and even then, it was a running joke that he pretended he didn’t know what day it was. If the call didn’t come on the same day every single year, Dave would think he still didn’t know.

“If you’d gone for art,” Dave spoke up. “What would you have gone for?”

Karkat looked surprised by the question, then pondered it. “Hmm. Drawing, I guess. I always liked to draw. I mean, I kind of suck at it. But I kind of suck at programming too,” Dave noticed the other man was rubbing his wrist and looked down. A small tattoo, a face with two huge round eyes and a mouth that looked stitched shut. It looked like a stick and poke. Dave’s eyes slid up the rest of his arm, and noticed Karkat also had a much larger, more professional tattoo poking out from the sleeve of his work shirt. Dave wondered what it looked like in full but resisted the urge to ask. 

Suddenly the door beside them flew open, and Dave and Karkat both nearly jumped out of their respective skins. Dave hadn’t realized that Dirk had put the music on a playlist and come to hunt him down until he was looming over them in the doorway,[Katy Perry’s Dark Horse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Im-1DCE_yQ) booming out of the speakers behind him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dirk asked, calmly. Too calm.

Dave rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, I just needed some air.”

Karkat looked petrified as Dirk stared him down, noting the bar’s logo on his shirt. “I thought we agreed on the rules, Dave.”

“I’m with a babysitter, aren’t I?” Dave snarked, flicking ash off his cigarette.

“Not one I approved,” Dirk retorted.

“Uh, okay, what the fuck—" Karkat was stumbling quickly to his feet.

Dirk ignored him and pointed at Dave’s cigarette. “Did he give you that? You quit, last I heard.”

Dave’s stomach tightened. He was suddenly afraid that Dirk was about to ruin any future chance he had at flirting with this Karkat character by dumping all of Dave’s dirty laundry out the window like an angry ex-wife. “No, jackass. And in case you forgot, these are legal.”

Dirk stood there in silence, still bristling, for a second. Then he softened, just a little. His shoulders relaxed. Karkat was still a ball of nerves behind Dave, like any second shit was about to pop off. Dave finished his cigarette and ground out the butt with his foot as he stood up. “I was coming back inside,” He said. 

Dirk crossed his arms angrily and turned to Karkat, sizing him up. “What’s your name, new guy?”

“Kar-Karkat,” he stammered.

“Okay, Kar-Karkat. Listen closely to what I am saying to you, because it is quite possibly the most important thing you will hear during your stint working here, however long or short that may be. I could care less. That’s my little brother, and he is going through some shit,” Dave frowned as Dirk pointed at him, and tried to protest that he was only ninety seconds younger. Dirk talked over him, as was his tendency when he was pissed. “He almost died a few months ago. I realize you’re new here, and you haven’t been filled in yet, and that’s okay. Consider this your own personal briefing, and I want to make this explicitly clear: if you or anyone else ruin that,” Dirk stepped forward, close to Karkat, who withered under Dirk’s intense presence and height. Karkat’s eyes looked like they would pop out of his skull. “No one will ever find your remains. Are we clear?”

They stood like that, in tense silence, for a few seconds. Karkat nodded. "Crystal."

"Good."

Dave was upset but trying to keep calm. He had barely been outside twenty minutes, and Dirk was already pitching a fit. Dave cleared his throat, finally breaking up the staring contest that had developed. “Okay, first of all, I realize you were worried, but oh my god, do you have to be such a drama queen?” Dave began, pointing at Dirk. “Secondly, how fucking _dare_ you talk about me like that in front of me? Like I’m not here and I don’t get a say? That’s fucking rich, dude. Do you see me cramming myself up your ass every time you do something that worries me? _I’m fine._ Unclench thine asshole. I was only out here for a second and Karkat had nothing to do with it anyway.”

“Oh, don’t tell me to unclench. Do you fucking know what it was like for me to see you like that? Do you have a clue?” Dirk was getting uncharacteristically worked up. Again. 

“Of course I do but it’s fucking over now!” As Dave yelled at Dirk, his brother broke eye contact with Karkat. The bouncer took that opportunity to bolt for the door. Dave shouted, “I’m sorry!” after him, but he was already gone. Exasperated, Dave whipped around to face Dirk again. “What did you mean when you said you filled everyone in? I mean, I get that my incident wasn’t exactly private, but like, do you just run all around town telling people I’m a fucking drug addict, Dirk? Because that is so fucking disrespectful on soooo many goddamn levels.”

Dirk looked tired suddenly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, and Dave, you’re not an addict anymore, you’re in recovery—”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Dave groaned. “I _am_ a fucking addict Dirk, that’s the entire point. Have you been listening to any of the shit you've been told the past few months? Yes, I am in recovery. Yes, I am trying. I haven’t touched fucking anything tonight, like I promised, and yes, that was hard! But I did it, like I've been doing it for months now, and you have no fucking right to—”

“What do you mean I don’t have the right? I wasn't the one who said anything, I told you all the bouncers knew already, it's not like it was a fucking secret!”

“You don’t have any fucking right to air my shit out like that, no matter how vague you think you're being! Just say I don’t drink anymore if someone asks you, and move on, Christ!” Dave was really getting heated now, thankful for the boom of the speakers to drown it out. The last thing he needed was more attention. He already felt his cheeks heating up, both from anger and embarrassment. “I should’ve known you can’t keep your fat trap shut. Runs in the family, I guess.”

“That’s not the only thing that runs in the family,” Dirk snapped, and Dave felt rage bubble up in his chest. That was low, but he could go lower.

“Yeah? Well I guess that means you’re next, then, doesn’t it? Good thing you've already worked up such a fucking rapport with _my_ councilor already.”

At that, Dirk looked shocked, then had the audacity to look wounded. Dave stormed back into the bar and kicked the rock that had been his makeshift doorstep as hard as he could, letting the door latch closed on Dirk as the rock skidded by him. He immediately started pounding on it, of course, and Dave knew his passkey was at his station. “Let him fucking knock,” he grumbled to himself. The pre-mixed playlist was still going, [a remix of Birthday Suit by Cosmo Sheldrake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKMZOX2_v2U) that the brothers had recorded together next in the track list. Still burning up with anger, Dave stomped to the bar and flagged Beth down. She glided over to him, completely ignoring a guy that had been very obviously and misguidedly attempting to flirt with her.

“What’s up? Where’s your brother?”

“Taking a shit. Can I get a cherry limeade?”

Beth narrowed her eyes at Dave and scanned him, knowing something was up despite the perfect composure Dave was doing his best to project. Wordlessly she made him his drink, then glanced at the stage. “That playlist has been going a while. Tell him to pinch it off. People are getting pissed.”

Dave, who had popped the cherry that garnished his drink into his mouth, grinned. The tied cherry stem was between his teeth. “I’ve got it handled,” he called as he turned and made his way up to the DJ booth again. His head swam as he gazed out over the crowd, who cheered and clapped as he approached. It had been so long since he was up here, it felt as terrifying as the first. Heart pounding, he tapped the mic and gave a little wave.

“Good evening, everyone,” a few whoops and cheers. He felt his nerves start to dissipate and managed a small smirk. A few girls in the front row made a flirty, cute show of fanning themselves, as if he were too hot to handle. It gave him the confidence he needed to keep going. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Intermission is over. Let’s see what the chef cooked up for supper tonight,” he drawled, and fiddled with some settings on the turntables and the midi. He could feel the familiarity come back to him; he had done this a million times, and it felt like coming home.

The crowd twisted and churned rhythmically below the DJ booth, and Dave bobbed along with the music. His mixing skills were a bit rusty, despite constantly playing around in the comfort of his bedroom during the recovery months. It was the anxiety, he guessed. He hadn’t done this…well, not under the influence of something or another in a couple years. It was a very raw, exposed feeling, like those dreams where you're naked in the hall at your high school. He could feel the weight of a couple hundred gazes on him, and his fingers stuttered a bit at first. No one seemed to notice or care, and that soothed him. The music filled his chest and flowed through his body, ears tingling with excitement under the thick cushion of the headphones. As the first song wound down, he prepared to do another, when he saw his brother out of the corner of his eye. He turned, hands still working deftly, keeping the flow going. Dirk was just standing there, positioned out of view of the crowd behind a speaker stack. Arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line, watching. Dave maintained eye contact for a second, then turned back to his business, never missing a beat. Seamlessly, he transitioned into the next song. The tempo here was faster, and the buildup wound tight in his muscles, sat heavy and hot in his gut. _This is going to hit so fucking hard_ , he thought, his heart rate accelerating. He took a deep breath, waiting for it, waiting for it, and then it hit, and the crowd went nuts. Dave stood back from the turntablesand threw his head back dramatically, victorious, grinning and letting it burst out of him. He could feel his heartbeat harsh and fast in his ears as the ecstasy of it washed all up and down his spine, bringing goosebumps up on his skin. He fell back upon the turntables again, raining down the heaviest shit he could ever remember spinning in his entire life and when it was over, he still felt like it was too soon. So, to piss Dirk off further, he melted into the next song, something a little slower, as a cooldown. He could wait.

Sweat dripping from his hair, he turned to look at Dirk again. “That’s my time, folks,” he spoke into the mic and picked up his limeade to take a big swig. The heat in the room had melted all the ice, but it was still refreshing. “Thanks for hanging,” Dirk approached as he was putting the playlist back on to leave, and there was a split second where their eyes met bare, shades lowered. Dirk looked pissed, but…proud? That almost looked like pride. Dave clapped him on the shoulder, leaned in to speak in his ear over the noise. “I’m taking a break, boss,” and he disappeared back into the alley again. It was almost like old times.

The end of the night rolled around, and Dave was sitting in his booth, scrolling his phone once again and chewing on the end of an increasingly soggy paper straw. The bouncers were sweeping up, helping the waitstaff and bar-backs gather up trash and empty glasses. Dirk had packed up everything and was sitting at the bar with his chin in his hand and a water bottle in front of him, chatting idly with Beth and the other owner, her wife Clara. All they had left to do was pack up the car, but Dirk hadn’t nutted up and apologized yet, so Dave was ignoring him. 

As he saw a figure approach out of the corner of his eye, Dave assumed his brother had finally come to beg for forgiveness. “You owe me Denny’s,” he said flatly, retweeting a meme and refusing to look up. 

“Wow, okay, first of all, rude,” Dave snapped his head up at the voice. Karkat was standing there, giving him a disgruntled but amused look. “But sure. Secondly, are you done with that glass?”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Dave stammered. He slid the empty glass across the table so fast, Karkat had to stop it from shooting off the edge and shattering on the floor. He barely caught it in time, stopping it on the very edge of the table and leaving it there. “I thought you were—I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s fine. What was it you said out there earlier? 'Unclench thine asshole'?” Karkat was smiling now. Dave was shocked to see it, but grateful. 

“I—yeah, I did say that didn’t I,” Dave muttered. “I’m sorry about all that. My brother is, uh… protective.”

Karkat shrugged. “Really, it’s okay. Mind if I sit?” Dave gestured at the rest of the empty booth, and Karkat sat down across from him. 

“You don’t really have to buy me Denny’s,” Dave blurted. “Obviously. That’s, um, just what I tell Dirk when he’s an asshole to me,” it sounded so lame coming out of his mouth, Dave wished he could shove the words back in. Why was he dumping on this poor guy? He could feel his already lacking social skills packing the last of their shit and moving to Mexico. 

“Is that often?” Karkat asked.

Dave shrugged. “Yeah, but you know. Brothers.”

“I do know,” he sighed and propped his chin in his palm. Dave was captivated. Now that the lights were on, he was beginning to realize, to his chagrin, Karkat was even more of a fucking stunner than previously thought. His eyes really were almost black. Dave was staring as he kept talking. “I have one. Older. He’s kind of a bitch, but you know. Brothers.”

Dave smiled. “Yeah.”

Karkat was staring back. They both seemed to realize at the same time and looked away too quickly. “Um,” He began, scratching the back of his head. “I was coming over here to ask you for your number. But. Since you asked. Do you really want to go grab something to eat?” 

Dave blinked, genuinely shocked. “My brother just threatened to kill you and you…want to take me out?”

Karkat smiled. “Well, yeah. If you’re up for it.”

Suddenly, as if summoned, there was Dirk. He was holding one of the little glass apple juice jars and making very pointed eye contact with Dave. Dave sighed. “It would seem my carriage is about to turn into a pumpkin, I’m afraid,” he drawled to Karkat.

“Peace offering,” Dirk said, sliding the glass bottle across the table. While he was at it, he grabbed the other glass Karkat had gotten distracted from retrieving. “We’re loading up. Come on.”

“In a sec,” Dave replied, and Dirk was gone again. He turned back to Karkat, who still looked nervous. “I would love to, but I’m still uh…kind of on a short leash.”

Karkat looked irritated by that. “Does he usually act like such a weirdo about you having a life?”

Dave laughed at his boldness, though he felt that familiar anxiety stabbing in his belly button. He really didn’t want to explain it all here, but Karkat seemed...nice. Maybe sometime he could see himself telling him his sob story. “I know it seems that way, but. Y’know. I kind of promised him I wouldn’t do that tonight. I have uh…somewhat of a track record of being a menace to work with. Maybe some other time?”

Karkat didn’t press. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt from the gas station up the street and an ink pen. His handwriting was harsh, blocky and all caps. When he was finished, he slid the scrap of paper across the table to Dave and stood up. “You can call if you want, I guess, but I would prefer to text. I should get back to work.”

Dave smiled, watching as the bouncer walked away. He looked down at the number for a lingering moment before gently tucking it into his wallet and getting up to leave. 

For the rest of the night, he felt like he was floating six inches off the floor.


	2. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_[Life begins to happen  
>  When I plan somethin' else  
>  Tryna be somebody  
>  But all I got was someone else  
>  My plans always changin'  
>  Always rearrangin', oh  
>  Slow it down, release control  
>  Slow and steady, let me know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ob2uHIiW3II) _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and added in links to all the songs i was thinking of when i made this fic and.....if i could turn back time by cher is so fitting for dave and john in this fic LOL i am weeping

**_Chapter Two_ **

The following morning was a late one, and Dave didn’t open his eyes until around one in the afternoon. A single blade of sunlight cut through a part in his blackout curtains and fell right across his face as the sun climbed in the sky. He could hear Dirk in the kitchen, clanging pots and pans together. With a yawn, Dave rolled out of his nest of blankets and stood, stretched, and cracking his aching back as was his morning ritual. He wandered into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and then made his way down the hall to the kitchen. 

He was surprised to see that instead of Dirk, there was another figure in his kitchen, humming softly and stirring a pot of what appeared to be soup. About a head shorter, with the same white-blonde hair, cut short. Silently, Dave stepped up behind the person and, probably with a bit too much drama, tapped them on the shoulder. They gasped and whipped around, brandishing a wooden spoon. Dave burst into laughter. 

“Dave Strider, you sneaky son of a bitch!” The newcomer cried, voice pitching and cracking on the last word. They clasped a hand over their mouth and smacked Dave on the arm with the spoon. 

“Good to see you too, Rox,” he said before turning and opening the fridge. Dirk was still afraid to leave Dave home alone for long periods, and though he was a bit irked still by the lack of privacy, Dave was always glad to see his favorite cousin. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here. Where’s Dirk?”

“No clue, he was here long enough to let me in and leave,” Roxy replied, turning back to the stove. The soup smelled delicious. Dave grabbed the water pitcher and poured them both a glass. He passed one to Roxy, and they thanked him. “He seemed like he was in a hurry. Told me he’d be gone a couple days.”

“Hmm,” Dave nodded and sipped his water. It sounded about par for the course. Dirk was often traveling for this or that, usually for out of town gigs. It was common these days for him to leave on an errand and let Roxy or Rose be the one to break the news Dave. Dave was making to sit down at the counter and chat when he remembered the number, crumpled up in his wallet, and rushed to the front door to retrieve it from the key dish they kept there. The receipt paper crinkled in his hand as he walked back and sat down at the bar. Roxy was turning off the burner.

“What’s that?” they asked.

“A cute guy at work last night gave me his digits, because I am a fucking golden god,” Dave said mischievously. He started the process of programming a new contact.

Roxy frowned. “Dirk would fuckin’ FLIP on you if he heard you say that.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “He’ll get over it,” He replied, opening the messenger app. He agonized over what to say at first, typing and retyping various introductions. Finally, he decided on,

  
DAVE: ok so maybe now you do owe me dennys  


“Yeah, I guess, but…” Roxy trailed off. They approached Dave’s side of the counter and handed him a bowl of hot soup before sitting in the adjacent bar stool. “I dunno, are you not worried about…dating someone now? And from a bar? When has that ever worked out for you?”

“He works there,” Dave tried not to sound defensive. “Seems like a good dude. He’s in school still. More than could be said for me,” when Roxy did not seem any more or less okay with the situation, Dave explained the events of the previous night. “Even though Dirk was a raging asshole to him within, like, five minutes of us even attempting to flirt, he still seems interested. When am I going to find that again, Rox? Dirk and I are kind of stuck together for life, I have to find someone that’s willing to put up with his shit as much as mine.”

Roxy was quiet, swirling their soup with their spoon and mulling it over. 

Dave’s phone _ding_ ed, and he immediately opened it.

  
KARKAT: NAH, I THINK YOU OWE ME CONSIDERING YOUR BROTHER THREATENED TO EVISCERATE ME OR GIVE ME CONCRETE SHOES OR WHATEVER. AN ALL STAR SHOULD SUFFICE AS PAYMENT FOR SPARING MY MISERABLE ASS FROM AN ETERNITY OF SLEEPING WITH THE FISHES.  


Dave tried not to let the excitement in his belly show on his face. 

  
DAVE: okay one the allstar is waffle house you absolutely uncultured bastard  
DAVE: two  
DAVE: you text like a boomer  
  
KARKAT: WOW, FUCK YOU, I DO NOT  
  
DAVE: ok boomer  


“Dave, seriously though,” Roxy sighed. “Are you ready for that already?”

He put down the phone and tried to ignore its dinging. “I think so.”

“Don’t you think you should be…I dunno, a bit surer than that?” They sounded genuinely worried. “You don’t have a great track record with dating the past few years.”

He sighed. “Are we going to talk about this now?”

“Would you rather talk about it with Dirk or with me?”

Dave considered that as he blew on a spoonful of soup, then slurped it down. It was fucking incredible, of course, because Roxy was basically a wizard at everything they’d ever done, and he burned his mouth eating it too quickly. The two of them ate in silence. Dave tipped his bowl back, drinking all the broth. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. Truthfully, he wasn’t used to having his appetite back yet. When he was satisfied, he propped his chin on his hand and looked at his cousin. “I’m…shit. I’m a little nervous, yeah. But. I’m also tired of acting like my life is on pause because I fucked up once.”

Roxy’s eyes flashed with an expression Dave couldn’t quite pinpoint. A mix of worry, disappointment. Roxy never really got angry with him, but it almost looked like they might today. “You fucked up a lot more than once, dude.”

Dave had a vision of himself, lying in the alley behind a grungy bar. It was like he was floating above himself, looking down from the top of the building. He was gagging on his own blood and vomit, eyes rolled back in his head. Seizing. Alone. He blinked it away. Roxy was still talking. 

“Listen, you know I love you and I only want the best for ya. I just want you to…I dunno, ease back into it. You’re young and you lived through some real traumatic shit already. We don’t want you to backslide and get hurt worse, y’know? It’s happened to me, it’s happened to Rose, hell, don’t even get me STARTED on Mom…” They wrinkled their nose at that. Mom Lalonde, god rest her soul, was above all else an impressive drinker. Her children liked to joke that the woman had singlehandedly kept Grey Goose in business for many years. “and you JUST got home a few months ago, there’s no shame in taking it easy.”

He mulled that over. It was true, and he knew it. “I guess,” he said, swiping open the lock on his screen as he got up from the table. Even so, he was having a good time chatting. Karkat was funny as hell, and not afraid to meet Dave’s smartass attitude with more attitude. Dave admired that in a man.

Upon his and Roxy’s parting of ways, Dave headed back to his room. He was still in yesterday’s t-shirt and boxers, an unfortunate result of working until the wee hours of the morning loading and unloading heavy equipment into and out of Dirk’s car. He had barely gotten his jeans off that night before flopping face-down onto the mattress and immediately starting to snore. After a long look at himself in the full-length mirror bolted to the back of their bathroom door, Dave decided it was high time for a shower. The water was steaming up the mirror in seconds, hotter than most would ever want or need it to be, but that was the way he liked it. To boil himself alive, “like a lobster”, he would tell people. The near-scalding water drummed against his bare shoulders as he stepped in and he closed his eyes, thinking.

Dave had been home for three months, almost to the day. He had spent a week in the hospital he had been rushed to after the accident, detoxing completely alone, followed by three months in inpatient rehabilitation. Coming down was the most miserable experience of his life, incomparable to anything else he’d ever suffered. He’d spent days burning up and freezing cold, shaking intensely all over his body. He’d vomited until he burst blood vessels in his eyes, which made him look extra horrifying, what with his already shocking red irises. A lot of the time, he was begging to be sedated, so weak and in so much pain that he wanted to die. Once, he woke from a nightmare to see his own body floating above him, dead in the street they had found him in after his overdose. It was a vision of what could have been if Dirk hadn’t found him in the knick of time. 

He remembered seeing himself in the mirror the first morning the withdrawal symptoms had eased enough that he felt like a person again, and he didn’t recognize what he saw. The Strider boys had always been thin, lanky. Dave looked like an actual skeleton with skin stretched over it, bruises blooming from purple to greeny-yellow at the crooks of his elbows and deep around his eye sockets.

He knew, looking down at his body as the water ran over it, that he was finally getting his strength back. His arms looked more defined, and his stomach didn’t concave in on itself anymore. His thighs were getting some of their muscle definition back. In the little mirror suction-cupped to the shower wall, Dave saw his face. He had a bit of unwanted stubble now, but he didn’t look quite so dead anymore; what little color he had had returned to his complexion. He bared his teeth at himself, admiring the new veneers he’d had put in the front. Various witnesses told him that he’d knocked a good few of them out on his own when he collapsed onto the pavement, though the fight he had picked in the bar bathroom had gotten the ball rolling on that one. He could still feel that horrible crack of his face against the sink if he thought about it for too long. Something about spitting out your own teeth sticks with you.

When he was finally finished scrubbing down, Dave shut the water off and stepped out onto the bathmat. He wiped the foggy mirror down and set up his shaving supplies, humming to himself as he got rid of the five o’clock shadow. He even decided to steal some of Dirk’s many fancy varieties of product. He scrutinized his reflection, poking and prodding at himself. His eyes had a twinkle in them again. Every day, things were changing, and he was getting better. 

For the first time in ages, Dave Strider smiled at himself in the mirror. He gave himself a wink and the finger guns for good measure. John would be proud.

When Dave stepped back into the hall, towel tied around his waist, he heard Roxy chatting away on the phone in the living area. From the sound of it, Dirk was calling to check in. Naturally, Dave didn’t want to get involved in that conversation. He shut his bedroom door behind him and opened the curtains to let in some light. 

If Roxy could see this mess, Dave thought, they would have a heart attack. Dave hadn’t folded laundry in weeks, and his collection of wet specimens and dead stuff was getting a particularly ominous layer of dust over it. He grimaced. As with every day previously, he quickly chose an outfit from his sparse closet, ignoring the fact that the clean pile and the dirty were beginning to merge into one super pile. Eventually, he would get to it. Not today. Instead, he had a boy to text, and things were going really well so far. His phone dinged again as he was stepping into his sweatpants. 

The first day rolled into the second, then the third, and Dave and Karkat had barely shut up to each other the entire time. Dave was, as he had been the past months, tired of being cooped up inside, and more than welcomed having someone new to talk to. He and Karkat had hit it off quickly, despite having somewhat dissimilar interests; Dave was relentless with his teasing of his new friend’s taste in movies, but he secretly thought it was kind of adorable how into romantic comedies he was. Karkat was a year younger than Dave, and despite his grouchy attitude and abrasive tendencies, he was about as mushy as a marshmallow inside. The second day, the two of them spent about an hour and a half on FaceTime, arguing over whether or not Dane Cook was still a relevant actor, and Dave still somehow didn’t find himself wanting to put the phone down. They snarked back and forth at each other throughout the house so much over the course of forty-eight hours that Roxy had resigned themself to hiding out in Dirk’s room, a rare occurrence given that he was so anal about people being in his business.

Dirk had called again the third day and told Roxy he had extended his trip, and would be finishing out the week in a college town about two hours south of them playing gigs. Dave was irritated by this, as Dirk was his ride just about everywhere, and he couldn’t miss a meeting. He grumped around the house on the fourth day, barely talking to Roxy. They gave him his space, and Dave was grateful for it. He hated being anything but self-sufficient, and he had taken to beating himself up over his newfound need to rely on the people around him. 

The most annoying issue was that of his license. Dave had lost it about a month before he entered treatment and had begrudgingly started using public transit. He loathed the bus and missed his truck. The freedom of driving out to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, windows down, music blaring, was one he missed so much he dreamed about it nearly every night. He used to do it all the time, back in the good old days. John would often come along, and they would get Taco bell and head for the outskirts of town, singing along at the top of their lungs to [Donna Summer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaaxld1ugu0) or [Cher](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgD9FyE60hs) as Dave’s banged up old Chevy sailed down the highway, often the only car for miles. Those days had long passed now, and since the accident and his return home, Dirk had been Dave’s ride to every meeting and doctor’s appointment thus far. He had told Dave over the phone to tough it out, that he trusted him to get himself to and from the meeting in one piece. Roxy didn’t have a car, and couldn’t take him. And John…well, John was still upset with him. Dave was trying to give him space.

The afternoon of Dave’s meeting, Karkat was complaining at length about his latest coding homework while Dave slurped down a cup of very milky coffee and a bowl of Froot Loops. He whined that he was tired of staring at a computer screen, and that he needed to get the hell out of the house before he “GNAWED [HIS] OWN FINGERS OFF LIKE SOME KIND OF FERAL FUCKING MONGREL.” Dave snorted at that. He absolutely knew what that was like, but had come to accept it at this point. He finished his cereal and washed his bowl in the sink, heading off to his room to lounge around until he had to head to the bus stop. 

  
KARKAT: SO DO YOU THINK YOU CAN COME OUT AGAIN TONIGHT OR WILL YOUR BROTHER LAY AN ACTUAL FUCKING EGG?  
  
DAVE: gee karkat that sounds a bit like a fetish thing are you sure im the strider youre interested in  
  
KARKAT: UGH. GIVEN THAT YOU WERE THE ONE THAT WENT THERE, MAYBE I DID PICK THE WRONG ONE. IS HE THE LESS GROSS TWIN? CAN I GET HIS NUMBER INSTEAD?  
  
DAVE: oh yeah sure its a common mistake. quick q tho how do you feel about puppet porn  


That one gave Karkat pause. Dave worried he wasn’t going to reply again at first. 

  
KARKAT: SERIOUSLY. COULD I COME PICK YOU UP?   


_Oh._ Dave was taken aback. How he did want that, and how he admired Karkat’s forwardness. How he had become so fond of his scratchy voice over the phone and wanted to hear it again in person. Dave sighed, and flopped back on the bed in an angry huff. Stupid meeting. Stupid bad timing. 

  
DAVE: sorry dude I have to go to a meeting later its kind of important  
  
KARKAT: WHO THE FUCK HAS A MEETING TO GO TO ON A THURSDAY NIGHT?  


Now it was Dave’s turn to pause. How much to tell now? Sure, they had hit it off, and Dave genuinely felt a connection with Karkat, despite only knowing each other for about a week. He didn’t know how much would be oversharing. 

  
DAVE: do you really want me to answer that  
  
KARKAT: A LITTLE, YEAH. YOURE BEING KIND OF FUCKING CAGEY.  
KARKAT: IF YOU DON’T REALLY WANT TO GO OUT YOU CAN JUST TELL ME TO FUCK OFF, YOU KNOW. IM FULLY CAPABLE OF BUYING MY OWN GREASY ASS DINER FOOD.  


Dave sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  
DAVE: if you must know its an na meeting and i have to take the bus there and back since my brother isn’t here so its usually a pretty long day  


The little “typing” ellipse popped up once, twice, stopped. Dave sighed. There goes that. He tossed his cell phone onto the mattress beside him and grabbed a pillow, smushed it over his face. He wanted to scream into it, but Roxy would probably hear him, and he didn’t want that. 

_Ding._

Dave peeked out from under the pillow and saw his phone screen light up. Reluctantly, he opened it.

  
KARKAT: I’M SORRY. I DIDN’T KNOW.  
KARKAT: DO YOU NEED A RIDE? THE BUS IS A SHITSHOW THIS TIME OF DAY.  
KARKAT: I DON’T HAVE TO GO IN WITH YOU OF COURSE. IF YOU DON’T WANT ME TO.  
KARKAT: BUT. THE OFFER IS ON THE TABLE.  


A few hours later, Dave was sitting on the couch, dressed and ready to go. His knee bounced with nervous energy as he pretended to watch TV while Roxy cleaned the kitchen. It was a clear indicator of their respective coping skills; Dave would bottle things up until his entire being vibrated on a frequency only dogs could hear. Roxy was a cleaner. Whether either approach was healthy, well. That was something that remained to be seen. 

The apartment Dave and Dirk shared was small, with only an open kitchen/living space, two bedrooms, and their shared bathroom. The boys tried to keep things tidy in the common areas, but between the two of them and their variety of interests, it was beginning to get cluttered in there, and was never up to Roxy’s standards anymore these days. Especially now that there was so much stress on their weird little family unit. 

It didn’t help that now they were actively worried again; Dave had already told Karkat yes, then told Roxy his plans. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, he had told them, and they eventually relented, with the condition that Karkat had to come up to the apartment and meet them first. If Dave weren’t so nervous himself, he would almost feel bad for springing it on Roxy. He could have just as easily pretended nothing was up, and pretended he was going to the bus stop as planned. He knew, though, that no pokerface in the world stood a chance against his dear cousin, and Roxy would have very quickly have figured out that something was up.

Roxy and Rose also shared a home across town, though it was quite a bit larger, and more ‘adult’ than the Strider apartment; Rose was the most put together of them, Dave thought, given that she was successful and married to the love of her life, despite being the youngest of the four Strider/Lalonde cousins at twenty-four. With her impeccable use of the pen versus the sword the Striders were so fond of, she had clawed her way up to the top of bestselling novel lists worldwide, and bought a house for her clan at the ripe old age of twenty-one with the royalties. Roxy, three years older than their dear sister, was whip-smart and finishing up their PhD in physics at the nearby university. Dave sometimes couldn’t believe that such a different group of kids had come from the same family tree. Sure, he and Dirk were smart. They just had different ways of showing it. They were goofier, looser, a bit more slapdash and rougher around the edges. The Lalondes and Kanaya, Rose’s beloved wife, were like a coven of brilliant, poised, polished witches and wizards that had sacrificed their souls to the devil for beauty AND brains, and access to both at once. 

Roxy didn’t buy that shit from Dave for a second and insisted that despite the pedestal Dave had put the Lalonde siblings on, they were all “Just a bunch of queer disasters.” In all honesty, Dave thought, they had a point. Apples never fall far from the tree, and all that.

Dave was still musing about this in his head when there was a knock on the apartment door. He whipped around so fast his spine cracked from coccyx to clavicle, and if he weren’t so nervous, he would have half a mind to think about how damn nice it felt. Instead, he just stared helplessly at Roxy, and Roxy stared back. Another knock. 

“Are you going to answer it??” They asked each other in unison. Roxy threw up their hands in exasperation, still wearing vinyl cleaning gloves, and hustled to the door. Dave was on his feet, straightening his t-shirt and trying to look casual as he trailed back a few steps.

The door opened, and Roxy was speaking, but Dave’s heartbeat was all he could hear. He had been inside the house for so long, with only his family around. At the sight of Karkat’s stupid handsome face, every coherent thought went out of his head. He cursed himself internally. _Smooth._

“Hi!” Roxy greeted Karkat brightly. “You must be Dave’s friend.”

“Uh, Karkat,” he replied. Roxy offered him a hand, and Karkat shook it. _What is it with these weirdos and their old people pleasantries?_ Dave thought to himself as he approached. Karkat saw him, and suddenly, he seemed almost as nervous as Dave. Almost. “Hey,” was all he said. 

“Hey,” Dave replied. Both of them tried to ignore that Roxy was scanning Karkat up and down, like a human copy machine. “Uh, Karkat, this is my cousin Roxy. Roxy, this is Karkat, as we established,” the two nodded to each other, and there was a beat of silence.

“Uh…do you want to come in?” Roxy asked.

“We kinda have to get going if I’m gonna be on time,” Dave deflected, already grabbing his wallet and keys, and shoving them into his pocket. “And we might go get dinner, if that’s okay.”

Roxy still looked unsure. The two cousins shared a long look, Roxy searching, Dave pleading silently. Finally, they sighed. “Yeah, sure. Just text me as you go, and if anything happens, call me first.”

Dave grinned and gave Roxy a big hug. They patted his back awkwardly as they parted. “I promise. Smell ya later, Rox.” he shut the door behind himself and Karkat before Roxy could change their mind. 

Finally alone with him, Dave’s belly was full of butterflies. He chatted with Karkat on their way to the stairwell, snarking back and forth as naturally as they had over the phone as they approached the car. As he had many times already, Dave marvelled at how easy Karkat was to talk to. He didn’t balk at Dave’s weirder jokes, and didn’t back down when he poked fun at him. It was a comfortable energy the likes of which Dave hadn’t felt in ages. Probably since he had last seen John, a thought which he pushed out of his head. That was not the kind of energy he needed to bring into this night, and he would be damned if he thought about it and made himself sad. 

It wasn’t until they were already driving that Dave realized he hadn’t told Karkat where they were going. Curiously, Dave noticed, they were still on the right path. In this city, there were several places that they held meetings of this nature, of course, but there was only one near the Strider residence. The two had lapsed into silence, but Dave spoke up again as he noticed. 

“Do you know someone at these meetings or somethin’?”

For a moment, Karkat didn’t reply. “My mom went for years. Not anymore.”

“Oh, did she hit step twelve? That’s cool, shit’s hard.”

Karkat’s silence let Dave know he’d made a mistake. “No. She died of a heroin overdose when I was sixteen. I found her in our kitchen. She was, uh. She had been gone a while by the time I got home.”

Dave’s mouth went dry. He looked down at his hands where they rested in his lap. What could he say? “Wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Karkat shrugged. He had propped his elbow against the window frame, a hand covering his mouth. “I mean, it’s okay. She struggled a lot. So did my dad. We all miss her. But what can we do about it now?”

Again, Dave thought it better to stay quiet. He remembered waking up in the hospital. The first thing he saw was Dirk staring at him with his hands clasped together in front of his thin-pressed lips like he was praying. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, like he hadn’t even blinked once since Dave was admitted. Later, Dave found out that his brother had pitched a fit when the hospital tried to make him leave, and demanded to stay until he woke up. He had to make sure they could see each other one more time.

_“You almost fucking died in my arms.”_

Karkat sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…fuck, that was oversharing wasn’t it? Should I even be talking about this? Anyway. Yeah. We’re fine, and it sucked, and I miss her. A lot. We were super close when I was little. But my dad kept his shit together. He’s a pain in my ass but he does a lot for us.”

Dave smiled. “That sounds a lot like Dirk.”

“Everybody needs somebody,” Karkat replied. “Even if that somebody for you is a total jackass.”

Dave laughed, but didn’t deny it. “He means well. I mean, he’s gotten me out of more shit than I could ever have expected to get myself out of alone. Besides, it’s kind of just been us for a long time now, and y’know. All that shit you hear about twins being weird and synchronous is very much us. I swear to god, sometimes he can see into my brain.”

Karkat smiled and pulled the car into the parking lot of the church where Dave’s meetings were held. He stared up at the old building, leaning on the steering wheel. The lights glowing from the lit sign and the stained glass windows of the church, casting colorful light across his face. Dave watched him, and his heart ached. It was a sort of familiar look that he recognized. He wondered how many times Karkat had been here before. 

“Are you coming in?” Dave asked. He almost couldn’t believe the words came out. Even more unbelievable was how much he meant them.

Karkat looked at him, surprised. “Are you sure? I don’t mind to sit out here.”

Dave nodded. “I’m sure. I mean…I dunno. You don’t seem like the type to judge me for my shit. I realize we just met and maybe that’s weird, but. I kinda trust you. And it’s nice not to go in alone.”

He saw Karkat’s face soften. He was an interesting guy, Dave was learning. Abrasive, kind of a jerk at face value, but equally hilarious and sweet at once. This was only the second time they had met in person over the course of a week, but he felt like he had known Karkat his entire life. It was nice, in kind of a pants-shittingly intense kind of way. Dave was good at bottling and masking his emotions, but Karkat was so genuine, he was beginning to confuse Dave’s heart a little bit. The ice was melting.

“Well. Fuck, man. How can I say no when you put it like that?” Karkat laughed. He looked uneasy, but he unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car anyway. Dave followed, and the two of them approached the door to the church basement, where the meetings were held.

Inside, it looked the same as always. People were beginning to set up in the circle of folding chairs. Some were still hanging back by the refreshments, chatting quietly together. As Dave and Karkat walked into the room, Dave caught his sponsor’s eye. She gave him a bright smile and a wave, and Dave returned it meekly. She was a kind woman, that Jane, but he always felt his eyes going to her biceps. Seriously, why the fuck was she so ripped? 

“Jesus,” Karkat, clearly in awe, almost whispered. Almost. “That woman is stacked like a brick shithouse.”

Dave snorted into the cup of coffee he had just poured for himself as he tried to take his first sip. The hot liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup and onto his hand, and Karkat laughed as Dave cursed, helping him dab the mess up with a napkin. Dave made a point not to look at Jane again as he headed for his seat in the circle. Karkat had been convinced that it really was okay for him to stay and had taken up a post in the corner of the room, scrolling on his phone. As everyone settled in, Jane brought her own coffee and sat down directly across from Dave. He cursed himself internally and avoided making eye contact with Karkat across the room, lest he laugh again. She began opening the meeting, running through the routine, and everything proceeded as normal. Dave listened patiently as other people spoke about their weeks, their experiences. He cringed at mention of a former member whose absence had been noted the previous week. They had learned that he died a few days prior, and while Dave didn’t know him personally, the loss was still felt by everyone in the room. 

“Would anyone else like to speak tonight?” Jane asked, looking around expectantly. Unintentionally, Dave made eye contact with her, looked away too quickly. _Fuck._ “Dave? How about you? How are things going lately?”

He pressed his lips together tightly. Karkat was still looking at his phone, but what if he heard? Dave shook the thought out of his head. If he wanted to bail after this, was it even fucking worth it? “I, uh. Well. Sure. Hi y’all, I’m Dave. I’m an addict,” the chorused response felt so cliché, even after so many months of meetings. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he continued. “I’m six months clean, now. Things were really tough the first little while. I nearly died. I’m a twin. My brother found me overdosing, and I was pretty fucked up. Some guy had kicked my shit in. Knocked a bunch of my teeth out on the sink in the bathroom at the bar, beat the hell out of me. I probably deserved it, but still. I was pretty goddamn messed up, and belligerent, and I got thrown out, all while on the clock mind you. My twin brother found me gaggin’ on my own barf in the street behind our job,” Dave kept his eyes on the floor, hands clasped, elbows rested on his nervously bouncing knees. He felt like he wanted to shovel the words back into his mouth, but it was so cathartic to get them out. They gushed out so quickly he barely had time to process. 

“It was hard to come back from that. We aren’t that close anymore. Sometimes I really feel like he resents me for it, even though he insists he doesn’t. He still acts even more weird and quiet and fucking cagey than is normal for us, and we already do that shit a fair amount. I don’t know what to do with that, I mean, fuck, we share everything. We shared a fucking womb. We shared a bedroom till we were like thirteen. We’re twenty-five now and we still live together. He’s like the other half of me and now he won’t even talk to…Ugh. Anyway. I’m doing better now. I’ve started finding things about life that I like again. I wasn’t sure that would happen. Last weekend I got to go to work with him again,” Dave smiled at the memory, the rush of stealing back some stage time. Dirk had pretended to be mad, but on the ride home, he didn’t flip shit, didn’t scold Dave. He had instead passed him the aux cord, a Strider family olive branch. Dave’s heart had grown three sizes ‘like the goddamn Grinch,’ he had told Roxy later on. “It was great. I haven’t felt that good in…god, fucking years. Years, man. I mean, shit’s still really rough but. I’m doing better.”

“That’s excellent, Dave,” Jane said, and even though he didn’t look at her, Dave could feel the smile in her voice. He continued.

“I’m back at the weight I was last time I considered myself healthy. Like, when I got out of the hospital my cousin cried so hard she had to leave my house when she saw me. That fucked me up. She is not a crier like, at all. We didn’t talk for almost a month, and now it’s like we’re really okay again. We all grew up super close, and sometimes I feel like I tore us apart,” he paused, clenching his teeth. Tears were coming, and he could not handle that right now. Crying in front of this many people was unheard of. “I never want to hurt them like that again.”

The room was quiet. He felt like there was so much more to say, but he was tired. He looked up at Jane, finally. Her big blue eyes were so soft and kind. “Thank you for sharing, Dave. That’s truly remarkable progress. Excellent work. And happy six months.”

The meeting dispersed not long after, people trickling back to the snack table or out the door to smoke. Dave sidled over to Karkat’s seat, hands in his pockets, and playfully kicked him in the shin. “How ‘bout that dinner date?”

Karkat looked up, scowling, and Dave felt his gut tighten. But then he grinned, and swatted Dave’s arm as he stood up and pocketed his phone. “I thought you’d never ask. C’mon, I need to eat my weight in scrambled eggs or my stomach is going to eat my spine.”

As they crossed the parking lot to Karkat’s little black sedan, he slipped his hand in Dave’s. Neither spoke on it; the blush that turned Dave’s entire face the color of a stop sign spoke for itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very inexperienced with HTML so i can't figure out how to get the text color on text conversations quite right yet. sorry if the formatting is a little weird! please comment & kudos if you enjoyed


	3. Won't Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_[ Hold back your tears  
>  Wax the pain  
>  Pressure on the wound  
>  If you fall  
>  Caught like trout see that  
>  Bravery won't drown  
>  So you keep the water running  
>  And hold back the blood  
>  Flowing through your nose  
>  Pressure on the wound  
>  If you fall  
>  Caught like trout see that  
>  Bravery won't drown  
>  So you keep the water running](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exor8XXKTsE) _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! to start off this chapter i just wanna say, please please be mindful of the tags. this one is mostly flashbacks and it gets rough. it details Dave's drug use, delves more into their past of abuse from Bro, and there's a good bit of violence. proceed with caution, but note that it ends on an upswing!!! 
> 
> as always, kudos are greatly appreciated. also dave drinks whiskey in this bc i drink whiskey but lets be real, this man lives for mike's hard lemonade

**_Chapter Three_ **

The night Dave Strider almost met his demise began with him snorting a line of coke off the back of a bar toilet.

Outside the stall, he could hear someone enter the bathroom and unzip at the urinal. Heavy music was thudding outside, rattling around in his skull even in this muffled capacity. Dirk had put the playlist on to give them both a break; already, they had been playing for almost an hour, and it was incredibly hot inside the little dive bar between all the bodies and the sweltering Houston summer night outside. Summer break had just started, and all the college kids that stayed in town for the summer were out in droves, dancing, drinking, and making questionably safe life choices. Dave and Dirk were booked out for the entire summer, and they were incredibly busy from the moment their eyes opened in the morning till they both crashed, usually around sunrise and only for a couple short hours. Rinse and repeat. It was exhilarating, but exhausting all at once, and immediately upon arrival to the bar that night, Dave knew he was going to need a pick-me-up to get him through. The night before he had only slept a grand total of four hours. Quickly, he had tracked down the first twenty-something that had a gram to sell him. He and Dirk then spent two hours running around setting up equipment and immediately starting their set. By the time their first break rolled around, Dave was sweating bourbon and irritated. He disappeared into the bathroom while his brother headed to the bar to get them water, cut a line on the screen of his phone, rolled up a dollar bill, and inhaled. 

There was a knock on the stall door as the first of the rush was starting to hit, and he quickly packed up, rubbing the last of the residue from his screen on his gums. “Just a sec.”

Dave made a quick stop at the bar for a whiskey before he jogged back to the stage. His brother was already waiting for him, fiddling with the settings on the mixers and his computer. He looked up at Dave and frowned.

“Are you high?”

Dave rolled his eyes and grinned. “Only a little. C’mon, we have a show to do.”

Dirk wanted to argue, but Dave wasn’t listening. The music made his blood pump ever faster, the thrill of performing only amplified by the drug in his bloodstream. He and Dirk were in perfect sync, moving around each other with practiced, almost telepathic precision. That is, until Dave mis-stepped for the first time ever, nearly knocking Dirk off his feet. His brother shoved him, shot him a dirty look, but kept working. When the song was over, he announced that they had to take five, and grabbed Dave by the arm, hauling him off the stage.

Dave sputtered and protested all the way backstage. “Dude, what the fuck! We just got back from break; this crowd is going to eat us alive—” 

“How fucking dare you,” Dirk’s voice was so low Dave could barely hear it over the music. They had stepped out of sight, into a hallway backstage where they couldn’t be seen. Dirk pushed his shades back into his hair so that Dave could see the dark rings around his striking amber eyes, then jabbed a finger at his chest. “We are at work, are you fucking stupid? We could get fired. You are not going to fuck this up for us. What did you take?”

Dave scowled as his brother stared him dead in the eyes, waiting for an answer. “Dirk, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, what isn’t a big deal? Our career? This job is pretty sweet, isn’t it? You really want to go back to bagging groceries and working in kitchens? You fuck this up for us both, and that’s where we’re headed,” he paused, looking his brother up and down. “Dave, you’re changing. I don’t like this shit. You’re losing weight, you look like absolute shit. I tried to tell myself it was just stress but Jesus, man. This has to stop.” 

Dirk was pissed, and normally, Dave would be willing to assuage him, to back down. Tonight, though, he was also pissed, and more than a little bit out of his head; the lack of sleep mixed with the drugs and free drinks from the bar was a terrible combination. He snapped, “Why do you care so much, honestly? I mean Christ, Dirk, I can take care of myself. I realize we’ve been attached at the hip since before we even came out of the womb and you’re having a hard time letting go, but we’re grown. If I want to do some party drugs and have a good time every now and then, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Frustrated, Dirk massaged his temples. “Jesus, it’s not about that. Look, Dave, just tell me what you’re taking. You need to get help, this is getting serious.”

Dave felt cornered, and more than a little defensive. He had been hearing that a lot lately, and rather than take it to heart, he balked. “Why is it any of your business?” Dirk’s icy glare made him relent. “Coke. That’s all.” It was only half of a lie, considering he hadn't done anything else yet on that particular evening, but maybe it would get his brother off his back for the night. 

Truthfully, by then, Dave had less dipped his toe into the world of recreational drugs and had more accurately taken a running leap into the deep end of the pool. It had started almost innocently, in high school, when Dave had skidded out during a rooftop strife with Bro and dislocated his hip. Bro had berated him for screaming, only giving in and taking him to the hospital after Dave had lain on the ground, struggling to get to his feet, for nearly ten minutes. He had refused to let Dirk help him up, even when Dave sobbed and begged. Bro insisted that he was fine and he could do it on his own. After resetting it, the doctor had prescribed him painkillers and bed rest, but the pain kept up after the script ran out (due in part by Bro’s insistence that rest wasn’t necessary beyond a week), so Bro had ‘done him a favor’ and found his little brother more of them. 

Next came college, when in the midst of a particularly raging party at a football player’s mansion, someone had offered him some new pills, and asked him if he had ever tried snorting them before. He remembered clearly how hilarious he thought it was to rail them out of the spine of the host’s parents’ fancy King James Bible. After that, all he could recall was how good he felt. The residual pain he still felt from old injuries, as well as the migraines he had started developing thanks to his light-sensitive eyes, melted away, and he felt like he was floating on air. After that night, he had started dabbling in other areas; he tried cocaine for the first time with John on a trip to Miami their sophomore year. John didn’t like it, and never took much interest in it again. Dave had a great time, first at the club, then running into the surf at the beach in the middle of the night. The waves felt incredible on his skin when he dove in wearing just his boxers, his whole being thrumming with the electricity of it all. John had come in after him, laughing as they splashed the warm salt water on each other under the moonlight.

When he dropped out of college his junior year and started DJ-ing full time with Dirk, he learned that a lot of the people that found him attractive were quite friendly and willing to share the contents of their handbags with him. Countless times he had been given little baggies of weed, cocaine, pills of all sorts, airplane bottles of booze. Once, when he was making out with a guy behind a club on a smoke break, the dude had slipped a strange little pouch of a brownish-white powder into his pocket. After some Googling, he had told himself it was okay to try it as long as there were no needles involved. In the end, though, it turned out that his addiction far outweighed his concerns for his safety, and he took what he could get. It was a beast he had to keep fed, a starving panther following him everywhere he went, only loosening its teeth from his throat when he could get his next fix. He wore long sleeves all that summer and prayed that Dirk wouldn't ask.

Dirk didn’t look at all comforted. He kept staring at his twin, shaking his head. “Dave…Fuck, fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not going to deal with you getting fucked up at work. This isn’t just about you, do you realize that? Do you realize that if we lose this, we can’t pay our fucking rent anymore? We’d lose our house. I am not going to stand here and just let you do this to us.

Dave laughed louder than he should have. “You can’t do this shit without me and you know it, bro,” Dave said it icily, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. 

Dirk pressed his lips together tightly, crossed his arms over his chest. “I can, and I’m going to. Go sit your ass at that bar and start coming down. You’re done tonight.”

Rage and embarrassment made the blood rise to Dave’s cheeks as he gawked open-mouthed at his twin. “You have to be fucking kidding me."

“Try me, asshole.”

He wasn’t backing down. Furious, Dave turned and stormed off in the direction of the bar. Dirk was returning to the stage, apologizing for the wait again as he got back into the groove. Dave ordered a Jack and Coke, chugged it, and ordered another. The bartender, a big, sweaty, muscly guy with crooked teeth and a greasy black ponytail, grimaced uncomfortably as he handed the glass across the bar. Drinks were free while they were working, but usually the boys didn’t go through many. Dave was already on his fourth or fifth complimentary drink of the night. 

Satisfied, he made his way to the dance floor. He knocked back the last sip and discarded his glass on the first table he passed, letting the throng of people envelop him. He moved his body in time with [Dirk’s music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PputxGopVQ), still angry, but defiant. Like hell he was going to go sit down, like a child in time-out. If the bar was paying him for this night, he was determined to do whatever he wanted on the boss’s dime, and let them answer to Dirk when they wanted to know why half the double act was in the crowd making out with a stranger. Which, _holy shit_ , he realized he was doing without remembering how that interaction stopped or ended. He let himself be carried away, grinding with strangers, and letting hands grope at his body as he went. It was almost as thrilling as the music itself; often, Dave kept himself closed-off, untouchable. Very few people were allowed to get close to him. When he was in this state though, nothing mattered. Nothing was off limits. The strobe lights made everything surreal, made everyone unbearably beautiful, and he felt godlike himself as warm hands stroked along the flat of his chest, down his scarred arms. He let himself float until he was too tired to dance anymore and drifted back through the crowd to the bathrooms.

The stall was open again, and he ducked inside for a quick bump. His head was swimming from the alcohol, and he needed the energy. When he stepped out of the stall again, he realized there was another person in the room, at the urinals: tall, impossibly skinny, with a fluffy, unkempt mess of black hair. His face, Dave could see in the mirror, was painted up like a Juggalo. He almost laughed, resisted, and went to wash his hands. _Where the fuck did this guy come from?_

“What you got in your pocket there, my friend?” the guy asked. 

Dave looked in the mirror. The stranger was standing behind him now, making eye contact in the filthy mirror. Dave felt his skin crawl, but just smirked. “Not enough of anything to be worth selling.”

“That’s quite alright my man. Maybe we can do each other a motherfuckin’ favor,” the tall guy said. He reeked of weed and sweat, and his voice droned low and slow. “Make us a little trade. You don’t know me, friend, but I have friends alllllll the fuck over this city, and they know you, lil’ Strider.”

Dave’s blood ran cold. He turned off the water and spun to face the other man. Even Dave had to look up at him to make eye contact, and he was six foot one in the shoes he had on. Dude was **huge**. “What do you want?”

The guy grinned. Dave was hyper aware of the way he was blocking the door with his gangly body, and though he couldn’t tell if there was any strength in those long limbs, Dave wondered if he could take him in a fight in such closed quarters. His heart thumped hard in his chest as the man spoke again.

“Well, see here,” his voice was intense and grating, like he had smoked a pack of cigarettes every hour on the hour since he was a toddler. The sound made Dave’s palms sweat. The man stepped closer, and Dave backed up, his body bumping into the sink. “I’m awful motherfuckin’ lonely lately, and it’s easier to find the good times again when you’ve got a hot body to get you through the bad,” he took another step, only about two feet away now, and began digging in his pocket. Dave could smell his rancid breath, and saw that his pupils were blown wide, almost enveloping his entire iris. “And I’ve been watching you, my friend. I’ve been watching a long motherfuckin’ time.”

“Dude, no fucking way,” Dave protested, trying to sidestep. If he needed to escape, the window was rapidly closing. Dave was fast, but he was more intoxicated than he thought, and his mind couldn’t keep up. He doubted he could duck by this guy, especially with his freakishly long limbs. He could grab Dave and no one would hear him call for help. “Look, I’m not interested. I gotta go back to work.”

Presently, the guy was reaching out his free hand, and put it on Dave’s shoulder. The contact made his heart stutter and his vision blur with fear. He held still as the man leaned in, Juggalo face paint coming so close to Dave’s he was worried that some of it would smudge onto the tip of his own nose. Dave swallowed hard and tried not to breathe in his awful, musky stink. “You show me a good time, my friend,” he drew his hand out of his pocket and held it out to Dave. In his palm were two of the bulbous little bundles, the powder inside nearly completely white. Dave’s mouth went dry and his head spun. “I’ll show you one too. Just call me a motherfuckin’ miracle worker.” He laughed at that, a horrible, dry sound, like sandpaper rubbing together.

Dave couldn’t look away from his hand. He knew he was in trouble, that this was incredibly sketchy and his entire body was screaming to get out. His mind raced as he tried to think of what to do, and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off the contents of his attacker’s palm. 

He didn’t comprehend that he had acted until he was being hauled back by his hair, kicking and flailing, the baggies clenched in his fist with all his strength. He had tried to grab them and make a run for it, but as he had thought previously, the other man was too close, too hard to maneuver around. Worse, now he was angry. When Dave saw his face again, mere inches from his own, he had a wild look in his eye, his jagged, blackened teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Dave struggled in his grip, screaming for help, but he couldn’t get free. The man tried to cover his mouth with his other hand, and Dave bit as hard as he could, felt his teeth sink through flesh and blood spurt hot and sickening into his mouth. He heard a howl, and then, faster than Dave could blink, his face made contact with the edge of the sink once, twice. His vision was a blur of color, and he felt searing pain bloom across his jaw and nose. 

“Hey!” he heard a new voice shout, and the man dropped him to the ground. Dazed, Dave lifted his head. One of his eyes was beginning to swell shut, but he saw the vague outline of a bouncer, who moved to grab his assailant as he bolted for the door. Dave watched as the bouncer disappeared out the door again, giving chase. No one else came to his aid. For a long, agonizing minute, he just lay there on the floor of the bathroom, realizing dimly that there was blood all over the tile. He coughed and drooled more of the awful, viscous red onto the ground. His blood, then. Delirious, he laughed, a disgusting, bubbling, choked sound, and lifted himself to his feet.

He realized foggily that he had kept his grip, and the baggies were still in his clenched, bloody fist. 

The rest was a blur. Dave shoved the drugs into his pocket and made his way from the bathrooms to the hallway behind the stage with ease, as it was relatively concealed from the dance floor. Dirk had no clue what was happening; he was still up on his pedestal, spinning records. The music thundered through Dave’s head like a stampede. He tried to stumble to Dirk, his eyes locked on his brother so intently he didn’t know what was happening until another bouncer had grabbed him. Dave, in his confusion, immediately went into defense mode. He swung his fist hard, caught the other man in the side of the head. Dave could only hear shouting, nothing clear, as he screamed for Dirk and screamed at the bouncer to get off him. The bouncer tried to wrestle him to the ground, but Dave headbutted him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Another set of hands grabbed his arms from behind and started dragging him, still screaming at the top of his lungs. The music was too loud for anyone to hear him in that part of the building, even his brother. He blinked, and realized he was being physically thrown into the street. He hit the ground and rolled, just like Bro had taught him, to lessen the impact. Blinked again, and realized he was hyperventilating. Blinked again, and there were the little baggies in his quivering hand. The world swam and fogged around him as he gathered up his now cracked cell phone, the only tool at his disposal.

_Gotta calm down,_ the thought bumped around his skull like a fly trying to escape the inside of a car; repetitive, insistent, but too confused to find the way out. 

He didn’t realize just how much he had snorted.

The last thing he remembered was Dirk calling his name, begging him to wake up as he drifted out of consciousness.

****

For much of the ride to the hospital, Dave was dreaming. He drifted through blackness for a while, until little bits and patches of memories swam up to him from his teen years.

In his mind, he saw floodwaters lapping over the streets as far as the eye could see. The grand majority of Houston had sunk under grimy, angry waves, and the Strider boys sat by the window of their high-rise apartment, watching the filth inch higher and higher. It swallowed storefronts, cars, anything that had been left on the street. Neither twin moved, but their anxiety was palpable. The apartment was, thankfully, high enough off the ground that the water couldn’t possibly reach them up there. Their dearest possessions wouldn’t be in danger of getting even a little damp, but eighteen floors below, the lobby was underwater up to chest height and rising. Their neighborhood was in a low spot, and the water was filling in the basin. On top of that, the power had gone out hours ago, and despite their warning pleas days before the storm had even hit, the eldest Strider had gone off on one of his lengthy “business trips,” leaving them alone in a too-quiet apartment with little food, no money, and no way to know when their guardian would return.

The twins were old enough to fend for themselves at this point, probably around sixteen or seventeen, and had been caring for each other mostly alone for near a decade now. They’d always been close by each other’s sides, hand in hand when they were much younger (and even still, sometimes). Bro was absent at best, neglectful and abusive at worst, and so they had had to overcome barriers fast to adapt. He was their only family close by back then, and would be until the Lalonde cousins moved down from New York for college. Nobody fucked with Bro Strider, not even the bravest of concerned school officials. Nobody had shit to say about the way he raised his boys, even though they were always thin and bruised or scuffed up. Not that he’d ever actually harm them, he would insist if asked; all the marks were battle scars, teaching opportunities, a way of toughening them up. By the age of ten both the twins had scars all up and down their freckled arms from years of blocking Bro's swings. 

“Self-defense is important,” he always drawled, calm, collected, and barely breaking a sweat as he batted away one katana strike after the next, like the blades were mere flies to be swatted. An annoyance. “In the end, all y’all’ve got is yourselves.”

Not true, the boys always wanted to say. They always had each other’s backs, always had a new tactic planned out, sometimes practiced weeks in advance, sometimes spur of the moment brain-linked ideas to take their big brother down. Only once they’d gotten him pinned to the pavement, two silvery blades laid threateningly over his Adam’s apple. Bro had sneered angrily, even as pride glimmered in his muddy red-brown eyes, clearly visible now that his shades and ball cap had gotten knocked off and skittered across the rooftop. The hat blew over the edge and was never seen again. Bro would cuss them out for it for months after, even when he had replaced it with an identical one.

“This don’t count,” he hissed, spat out blood from a bitten tongue. “You can’t rely on each other forever, y’all know that.”

He’d whipped up so fast, then, so unexpectedly fast. Dirk hadn’t even had time to cry a warning before Bro had Dave on the ground, the blade of his sword pressed hard against his little brother’s neck. The younger boy lay frozen, eyes wide with silent fear. Bro smirked. Blood beaded against Dave’s tanned flesh when the blade was gone, the older Strider already disappeared down the stairs. Dirk was quick to wipe the blood away, and had bandaged the cut himself, working quietly as Dave cried. He was always such a good listener, even when all Dave had to say was “I hate him,” as silent, angry tears dribbled off his chin. 

There was still a scar there. Neither brother talked about it.

Twelve years old had felt like ages ago, even then. The rain pattered down rapidly on the rooftop, washing all the dust and blood and bird shit away. Dirk closed his eyes. Thunder clapped. The only sounds were the whooshing of the rain and their soft, synchronized breathing.

“He’ll come back,” Dave said quietly, resting his chin on his hand. “Y’know he always does.”

“Mm,” Dirk hummed in reply, noncommittally. “And if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

He would like he always had, and probably at the worst time. Like when the twins were fourteen, and he’d come back just in time to catch Dave on the rooftop, feeding the crows handfuls of seed he kept hidden in his closet. He’d always told the boys not to do that, or else the “stupid goddamn bird assholes’ll shit all over our sparrin’ grounds.” But Dave had always had a soft spot for the sleek black ravens that sat on the air conditioning unit, cawing all day long. Bro would always chase them away when they came up to strife, even killed one once. Dave had cried all day after Bro had left them alone and insisted that Dirk help him prepare a secret memorial in its honor. Dave always had been a little softer-hearted than Bro was willing to tolerate; he had just as practiced a poker face as his brothers, but when Bro wasn’t around, he was warm and goofy, laughing loudly at John’s dumb jokes and flashing Dirk toothy grins when he beat him at whatever stupid Xbox game they were playing. 

Dirk, by contrast, was just a little quieter, more withdrawn, and sullener than a child was expected to be. Mostly, it was because of his anxiety, and how prone he was to sensory overload. He was always working something in his hands, and if he didn’t have something to fidget with, then his nails and fingertips suffered. He bit and picked until the skin bled and scarred over, until one summer when they were ten the brothers snuck into an old junkyard down the block and stole a plastic beach bucket full of bolts and parts and wires. Dirk, tired of taking apart all the various kitchen appliances and putting them back together, had started making tiny robots, mere action figures at first, but gradually worked his way up to functioning little electric folk. He became so obsessed that by the time they were eleven, he’d earned a scholarship to go to a nice engineering camp. Dave held his hand at the bus stop, heart heavy with the thought of being apart from his brother for so long. Dirk would be happy there, and it was only a few weeks, but it was the first time he had been all alone in the apartment for that long. No Bro to hide from, no Dirk to hang out with. When he got back home from camp, Dirk teased that the crows had gotten fat from all the time and food Dave was giving them. 

When they were thirteen, things changed. 

Neither one was sure what really happened; there was a period before where everything was normal. School, Bro being home, Bro being gone, weekends spent roaming the city alone, playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo 64, and eating frozen pizzas alone on the living room floor. And then one day, the world just stopped. 

Both boys came down with a horrid fever. Dave got hit first, as he often did back then; his tan skin turned waxy and pale, and he could do nothing but sweat and shiver and complain that he was cold, even piled under every blanket in the house. Bro was gone to Amarillo for god knows what, and he wouldn’t answer his phone. Dirk did his best to consult WebMD, his friends, Yahoo! Answers, anyone he could in hopes of breaking Dave’s fever on his own. He was too young to drive even if they had a car at their disposal, too afraid to call an ambulance, and too afraid to put his deathly ill brother on a bus or a cab. What if he were contagious? What if he got worse being around other people? 

Dirk held his brother’s hand and laid cold washcloths on Dave’s sweat-beaded forehead. He fed him chicken noodle soup that he’d bought with the change he'd found scattered around the house, took his temperature regularly and tried not to panic as it rose higher and higher. Eventually, he noticed himself falling ill, but he refused to believe it would get that bad. He couldn’t get bad too, not when Dave needed him. He worried only about his brother and never left his side until one day, in the middle of April, he woke up and discovered that Dave was sleeping heavily. A glance at the clock on the wall told Dirk that the time was 4:30. “Four am? Did I really sleep that long?” he thought blearily, wiping sweat from his own forehead with a trembling hand. Then he blacked out.

The next thing he knew, Dirk was waking up alone in a hospital bed. Bro lay sleeping in an armchair nearby, his body far too big to be curled up in the ridiculous way it was. Dirk eventually learned that Dave’s fever had peaked at 104 degrees, his own at 103, and the only reason they hadn’t died was because the school called Bro to complain that the twins hadn’t shown up for school in almost a week. He’d just gotten back into town, and when he stormed into the apartment, ready to put the smackdown on his brothers for playing hooky, he’d found Dave barely breathing on the futon, sweat dripping from his hair as his eyes rolled and darted behind half-open eyelids. Dirk was on the floor beside him, unconscious and looking as close to death as his brother. Bro had rushed the boys to the hospital, and they’d been there for three days when Dirk finally came to. 

It took a little longer for Dave to wake up, but when he did, he was still confused and shaky for several days. He told Dirk about the awful nightmares he’d had, about having to cut off his twin brother’s head, about grey-skinned aliens with horns and rainbow blood, a crazy dictator monster with fuschia lipstick over a shark fanged grin and an impossibly long mass of black hair billowing out in a cloud behind her. Dirk’s own dreams had been hazy, but he seemed to remember some similar things, oddly. He remembered putting a strange red box around his head, and then pain, and then nothing. He remembered odd conversations with a very angry kid whose name he couldn’t remember (Cali-something?) and he remembered confessing his affections for Jake, his Internet best friend who lived halfway around the globe. He remembered strange, armored beasts coming down from the sky, two robots he’d built fighting them off. Texas as they knew it had been underwater. Most of all, he remembered the crippling loneliness, and seagulls, and the smell of salt and rust in the air. They both chalked it up to their twin brain link and pretended they had forgotten about it.

Returning to home and school was strange, and it took a long time for things to resemble normal for them again. Dirk felt far more defensive of his brother, now. The two of them exchanged an endless stream of "You okay?" "yeah you" texts throughout the day until they were together again. This habit continued for years, even when they were both in college. 

Lightning struck nearby, and both boys flinched in unison. They made the silent and unified decision to move away from the window. The futon was a saggy and uncomfortable alternative, but they found a weird sort of comfort there. No matter how many years they’d spent in that apartment, and no matter how many shitty things happened there, no number of bruises and heartbreaks and angry tears could change the fact that it was their home. The futon and the blankets heaped on it always smelled like Bro, even when he was gone for months. It was a comfort that neither of them liked to admit they wanted. Through the dream-haze, Dave saw himself settle in on one arm of the futon, Dirk on the other, and throw a blanket over their legs. They fell asleep like that, mirror-image as always, their heads propped up on their hands as the light of the TV shone in their respective glasses.

That memory faded, and John took its place. 

John, as he knew him all his life, only fuzzy around the edges, no weird fever dream shit obscuring his memory. John’s bright smile, his goofy snorting laugh. He saw John run and dive into the ocean that night in Miami, John in the passenger seat of the truck singing [Amy Winehouse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-n0jxiUPjbg) at the top of his voice. John hugging him tightly after Dave returned home from the hospital after his and Dirk’s fever, crying in the hallway at school in front of all the other kids. “I thought you were going to die, dude!” he was laughing and sobbing at the same time. “Never do that to me again, you jackass!”

John had moved to town in sixth grade, and he and Dave had been thick as thieves from the day they were put in class together. A week before Dave’s overdose, John had come to the apartment unannounced. He had had his own key to the place since the twins moved in and let himself in as he so often had over the years that he had been friends with the Strider family. He had caught Dave off-guard with a needle in his arm and panicked. How could Dave keep a secret like that from him? How could he, when he had insisted a million times to John that he was okay, that nothing he was doing was too much for him to drop on his own? They had had a fight bigger than any they ever had before, and John had left in a fit of anger. Before he slammed the door behind him, John turned and looked at his best friend, tears in his eyes, and jabbed a finger at his chest.

_“I can’t stop you from doing this to yourself. But don’t call me again until you’re ready to change.”_

Those words repeated in his head, echoing endlessly as Dave drifted in and out of lucidity. He wondered vaguely if he would ever have the chance to make it up to him.

When he finally woke in his hospital bed, Dave wished he could’ve just drifted like that forever. Reality was too painful, physically and emotionally. In his dreams he could forget that John had ever shut him out, Dirk still trusted him. He had gone so far down a path he had always sworn so vehemently he would never so much as consider stepping foot on. It had happened so fast, with absolute breakneck speed. One minute he was laughing with his college friends, hotboxing the bathroom of someone’s shitty apartment. The next he was dying in the street, and he almost couldn’t remember how he had gotten there. Being separated from Dirk was the worst, even when he was upset with Dave; three months with only handwritten letters felt like an eternity, and when Dave was finally discharged from inpatient, he and Dirk had hugged each other for so long and so tightly in the parking lot that Dave thought his arms would go numb. Even when Dirk started icing him out, being strict with him in a way that made Dave want to rip his hair out by the fistful, he was just glad to have him back. 

There were times over that six-month span where Dave was so hungry, so wanton for his old ways that he bit his nails bloody. He woke in a sweat so many nights, shaking with a dream of that blissful high hitting his bloodstream. There were days that he wished Dirk hadn’t found him in that alley, that he had choked beyond saving and never had to feel that horrible craving again. He left John dozens of voicemails, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, for his best friend back, but no reply ever came, and he eventually filled the voicemail box. There were weeks that he would fight tooth and nail with his family, once screaming at Roxy over some minute inconvenience that had set him off until they had cried . Rose had backhanded him across the face for that, then cried herself, horrified that she had laid hands on him when she knew their history of abuse with Bro. Dirk had to force him to shower, dragging him out of his room and barring the bathroom door until he bathed, and Dave would stare at his reflection in the mirror so long that his features didn't look human and he loathed the sight of his own face. He would sit on the floor of the shower, letting the water run over his bony body, and pray for death. It was better, he told himself, than living in pain like this forever.

He hadn't believed it for a long time when people told him there would be a light at the end of the tunnel, but that night with Karkat, Dave caught himself thinking that it was true. Life was becoming enjoyable again at long last. The two of them sat for nearly two hours in a booth at the local Denny’s, laughing and talking. Dave didn’t get uncomfortable when Karkat wanted to sit on the same side of the booth as him, and Karkat only pretended to take offense when Dave stole fries off his plate. They argued a little too loudly for public about how rude it was of Dave to shoot his straw paper into Karkat’s face, blow-dart style, even when Dave relented and let Karkat do it back (his aim was way worse and even at essentially point-blank range, Karkat missed entirely and his paper sailed into another occupied booth, earning them both irritated stares and whispers from the older couple seated there). Eventually, they paid their tab and just sat there, telling each other stories about their lives. Dave danced around the details of his weird childhood, letting Karkat talk about his family more than Dave was sure he wanted to talk about his own. It was nice to hear him complain about his Dad’s fierce overprotectivity when he was so used to Bro’s apathy. Dave took his headphones out of his pocket and offered Karkat one bud, showing him some of the mixes he had been working on at home, and told stories about his and Dirk's adventures in the club circuit. Karkat wheezed with laughter as Dave rattled off a list of items he and his brother had discovered on the floors of nightclubs, and recounted the story of the first time someone had thrown a bra onto the stage. It had smacked Dirk directly in the face, and the poor guy had barely been able to mask his horrified confusion as it got tangled on his pointy shades and yoinked them right off his nose.

Around 11 p.m., Dave got a text he hadn’t received since before his accident.

  
DIRK: Hey.  
DIRK: You okay?  


He stared at the text alert for a long moment. Karkat noticed. “Is something wrong?”

Dave smiled, shook his head. “Nah. It’s cool,” he replied, opening his messages. 

  
DAVE: yeah  
DAVE: you?  


  
DIRK: Yeah.  
DIRK: Just be safe out there, okay?  


DAVE: will do 

Dave smiled and pocketed his phone, launching back into conversation with Karkat. It was true, he mused to himself, as he watched his dinner date animatedly talk about his school work, his friends. He was definitely more than okay now. More okay than he had been in a long time. When Karkat eventually drove him home that night, they sat in the car outside Dave’s apartment building, and Dave found himself watching the way Karkat’s lips moved, the way he formed sentences, and before his anxiety could catch up to his mouth, Dave blurted, “Can I kiss you?”

Karkat laughed. “I was afraid you’d be too chickenshit to ask.”

His mouth tasted like pancake syrup, and Dave never wanted to forget the taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it please leave kudos or a comment


	4. Revolution Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _  
> [You know, I know that your hope's been missing  
>  I know we both coulda almost died  
>  I know it's harder everyday to provide  
>  But it's gonna change, I can feel it coming  
>  And when it's here, we'll be side-by-side  
>  I know we'll make it out of this one alive](youtube.com/watch?v=lBQTLAnctWU)  
>  _  
>  **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooooowdy folks
> 
> back at it again with the trigger warnings for drug use, abuse, etc. this one is some background story on both dave and karkat, and it is considerably sweeter and fluffier imo. 
> 
> as always if you enjoy, please leave a comment or kudos!!

**_Chapter Four_ **

Dave had reached six months sober almost without notice. Back then, when he was stuck at home bored out of his mind, he hadn’t really cared enough to count, and it was Dirk that pointed it out at the very end of the day. The two of them were working on their computers at separate stations in the living room. Dirk turned, brows pinched together as he counted in his head, and asked, “What day did you get admitted again?”

Dave paused the video he was watching and frowned. “Why?”

“August seventeenth, right?”

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

Dirk rolled his eyes. “It’s the seventeenth, dude.”

“Yeah, of—Oh,” Dave looked at the calendar on his phone to confirm. “Huh.”

The shift was subtle at first, but after that milestone passed, things felt easier. There were still days of frustration, days when he and Dirk butted heads (sometimes figuratively, sometimes quite literally), but there was healthier resolution now. They learned to apologize to each other genuinely, rather than showing up two hours after a fight with takeout as a peace offering. Dave would credit their ‘twin thing’ with always making them pick up on each other’s emotions and anxiety; when one was stressed, the other tended to react accordingly, and their too-close proximity in the apartment often made tensions flare. Rose, in her endless patience, spent one visit teaching the twins a variety of breathing exercises and calming techniques, and they did their best to remember them when it got hard to focus. 

After that first night back at the club, Dave had caught the bug again with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years. All he thought about was making music, and he spent most of his time in the apartment, rearranging compositions and wearing his headphones until he got a headache. After the first night, Dirk brought him with to almost every local gig he had, and only left him behind when he had to leave town. Dirk was quiet about it, but Dave could tell his brother was glad to have him back as more than just a stage assistant. They started having writing sessions together again, and often spent their evenings in the living room “office” of their apartment, darting back and forth between mixers and computers and playing each other samples for critique over dinner.

For months, he had been so lonely. It was one thing to have his family around, and they helped, but he hadn’t had many close friends to begin with. Dropping out of school, he had fallen out of touch with any classmates he had befriended, and when John left, he felt like the world was closing in around him. Then Karkat came along. After just a few dates together, the two of them had become virtually inseparable. Dave wasn’t sure how to handle it at first; sometimes, they would be alone together, and he would be seized with terror just watching Karkat talk and realizing how much he just _liked_ him. Once, when he thought too hard about the way Karkat had curled up against his side to watch a movie, he had to physically excuse himself to hide in the bathroom for a solid ten minutes. He knew it was ridiculous, but he just got so overwhelmed at the feeling. Karkat’s energy was refreshing, even though he tended to be a grouchy ass, and in those increasingly common moments of genuine affection, Dave panicked. 

He and Dave worked together in unexpected ways; though Dave often talked and talked in circles, Karkat’s no-bullshit attitude meant he would call him out and make him get to the point. Likewise, when Karkat went nuclear and was spitting with frustration and anger, Dave’s rambling calmed him down. They were an unlikely duo, and yet the more time they spent together, the more right it felt. Dave knew things were really getting back to normal when one night, he looked up from an especially long-winded story about a [Stevie Nicks](youtube.com/watch?v=Dn8-4tjPxD8) song he had been been playing with and saw Dirk and Karkat whispering and snickering together on the couch. He would have been offended that they weren’t listening if it hadn’t been so heartwarming. Dirk wasn’t the type to show a genuine smile to anyone but the immediate family, and even those were few and far between. Whatever Karkat was showing him on his computer had Dirk genuinely laughing, and it nearly stopped Dave’s heart. 

Later, when Karkat inevitably fell asleep on the sofa in front of his programming homework, Dave covered him with a blanket and absconded to the kitchen with his brother. Dirk smiled at him as he hopped up to sit on the counter and nodded in Karkat’s direction. “I like this one.”

Dave grinned at that. _God,_ he thought, _I do too._

Six months folded into seven, eight, and nine in what felt simultaneously like an eternity and the blink of an eye. Dave still struggled, but it was easier to work through his issues with help, and his communication skills continued to get better with practice. Though he didn’t like to admit it, Dave had never been in a relationship serious enough to open himself up, and the prospect was utterly terrifying. Being closed off led him and Karkat to get into arguments frequently early on. Karkat would get frustrated and shout about how Dave refused to acknowledge anything genuinely and preferred to dance around the subject rather than say what he was feeling. Dave balked, and, predictably, tried to dance around the subject. 

Only once, he was worried Karkat was going to leave for real, after a particularly nasty fight where Karkat accused him of not having any genuine feelings. Dave, not sure how to respond, laughed and tried to play it off, and Karkat stormed out of the apartment in a huff. Dave sat on the shower floor for an hour after he left, trying not to cry as he ruminated on what had just happened. It hurt in almost the same way it hurt to watch John leave. In his head, he had already resigned himself to the knowledge that it was over, but he realized that Karkat was right and had rehearsed in his head what he was going to say in his apology. He was surprised to see that he had a text alert when he got out of the shower.

  
KARKAT: HEY.  
KARKAT: IM REALLY SORRY I SAID THAT. I WAS UPSET. NOT THAT THAT MAKES IT OKAY BUT.  
KARKAT: FUCK. I WAS AN ASSHOLE. IM SORRY I LOST MY TEMPER.  
KARKAT: I GUESS I FORGET THAT YOU GUYS DON’T ARGUE LIKE ME AND MY FAMILY DO. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO YELL AT YOU LIKE THAT.  
KARKAT: I KNOW SHIT IS HARD FOR YOU AND YOUR BROTHER KIND OF TRAINED YOU GUYS TO BE LIKE.  
KARKAT: WELL. YOU KNOW. FUCKING MACHO OR WHATEVER.  
KARKAT: BUT I KNOW YOURE TRYING.  
KARKAT: I OWE YOU DENNY’S AGAIN. FUCK. NOW I KNOW HOW DIRK FEELS.  
KARKAT: PLEASE TEXT ME BACK WHEN YOU CAN, OK?  
KARKAT: I GET IT IF YOU DON’T WANT TO TALK. I WAS A REAL DICK. BUT I WANNA KNOW IF YOU’RE OKAY AT LEAST  


  
DAVE: hey  
DAVE: im sorry too  
DAVE: i know its annoying as hell when i shut down like that and i promise im working on it  
DAVE: youre right i dont really know how to express my feelings but i do have them  
DAVE: i have a lot more of them than i know what to do with these days  
DAVE: a lot of them are for you  
DAVE: like so fucking many of them are for you dude i dont even know how to deal with how many  
DAVE: but yeah you do kind of owe me dennys  


Karkat was the first to say “I love you,” and Dave was only mildly horrified to find he felt the same way. 

It happened when they were home alone one afternoon, lying in Dave’s bed while an old [ Carpenters record](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJmmaIGiGBg) turned lazily on the player on Dave’s desk. Karkat ran his hand over Dave’s bare chest, fingers delicately skimming over puckered scars, some still reddish and angry, some silvery ghosts. Dave tried not to notice him noticing, but it was hard to avoid watching his wonderment. Karkat had such an intense look on his face, his brow furrowed like he did when he was thinking hard on something. His hand smoothed down Dave’s right arm, glanced along the largest scar there. It ran nearly the entire length of his forearm, a diagonal slash from the right ball of his wrist across the outside of his arm to the crease of his elbow. It had never healed quite right, and still was an odd purply color in some sections of its great expanse. If you squinted, there were still a number of tiny dots running along its edges, a reminder of the amateur stitch job Dirk had done when Bro had, inevitably, whisked out of the apartment, leaving Dave to bleed all over the bathroom.

“Why do you have all these?” Karkat asked quietly, and Dave tensed. Quickly, he backpedaled. “I mean, they don’t look like… they don’t look like mine. These don’t look like something you did yourself.”

Dave paused, and stroked Karkat’s hair with his free hand. He leaned into the touch, but kept his eyes trained on Dave’s face. His gaze was so deep, so intense, it was hard not to feel quite so bare when he was looking at you with those dark eyes. It didn’t help that at that point the twins were comfortable enough to go without their shades around him. Dave broke eye contact, looking instead at the cap of short, straight scars that nearly covered Karkat’s shoulder. His tattoo, the one he had seen peeking out from his sleeve that first night, was fully visible now. Karkat had explained that it was a painting by a surrealist artist his mom had really loved, a twisting swirl of greens and yellows that popped gorgeously against his golden skin. It mostly masked the scars, but in certain lights you could see the raised texture through the ink. It made him sick to his stomach to think of Karkat being so hurt that he would do that to himself, but in this moment, it was almost comforting. A sign of understanding between the two of them. They had both lived through so much shit. 

“I…I’ve been in a lot of fights over the years. Sparring injuries, mostly.”

The frown on Karkat’s face only deepened, and Dave tried to smile, pinch his cheek. Karkat grumbled and grabbed the offending hand, lacing his fingers with Dave’s. Dave broke eye contact again to gaze down at the contrast of their skin tones and avoided the question.

“Dave,” Karkat said softly. “Don’t you usually use blunt blades for sparring?”

He laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Yeah,” he said, tipping his head back to stare at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. “Yeah, well, my Bro didn’t believe in all that. When we were really little, sure, they were sort of dull for me and Dirk. But he always kept his sharp. Honestly, it hurts less that way. You get used to it.”

Even without looking, Dave could feel the horrified look growing on Karkat’s face. “Your brother did all this to you? And you just…you just got _used_ to it?”

“Well…No, I guess I didn’t really. It just happened so often. Also, Bro’s technically my dad,” he said it almost nonchalantly, refusing to look at the confusion and anger on Karkat’s face. He knew it wasn’t directed at him, but he also knew if he looked now, he would lose his nerve again, and Karkat didn’t deserve that. “I guess if we’re being honest, we should start there. He refuses to let us call him that, but it’s true. He’s our dad. Dirk’s my only brother.”

Karkat was quiet again, though the deep breath he sucked in through his nostrils was audibly shaky. Dave had alluded to this in the past, but he had never outright said it. It was frustrating, Karkat thought, that there was so much about Dave he didn’t know, no matter how much he talked. He knew, though, that it was hard for him to get the words out. Trauma does that to a person, that much he could attest to. Before Karkat could think of something to say, Dave started to untangle from him and moved to sit up. Karkat followed suit. They scooted back, propping their backs against the wall, and Dave held Karkat’s hand in both of his own. Without his glasses on, Karkat could see the emotion in his eyes, the conflict in his head pinching his brows together. He spoke softly. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

“Only if you’re ready,” Karkat replied, squeezing his hand. 

Dave nodded. “It’s a lot, so. Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“I’m not going to stop you.”

He almost laughed. “I might need to stop myself, then. I’ve never…” he didn’t finish the sentence, but Karkat knew. He’d never spoken about it before outside of therapy. Anyone that needed to know already knew. This was a major step for him, like jumping off the diving board into the deep end of a pool knowing he couldn't swim. 

He explained then how as far back as he could remember, he felt like his entire existence was some big joke, his birth a mistake that, had Bro known it was happening, could have been avoided entirely. As it were, neither he nor Dirk had any idea who their mother was, or if she was still alive. She had never been spoken of, to the point that the twins had speculated maybe Bro didn’t remember her either. He had told them that she had left them on his doorstep like some shitty movie, and he was too proud to dump his spawn off on anyone else. Bro had no idea how to function as a parent, so he just didn’t try. Sometimes he would forget to pay the water bill, or the boys would wake up to a sweltering apartment with no lights or electricity. He was a belligerent alcoholic for most of their childhood, and Dave and Dirk had learned how to walk on eggshells around him from the jump.

When they were old enough to reach the front doorknob to lock it, he would disappear for hours at a time, only to stumble back into the apartment at odd hours, shouting, drunk, and angry. It was as loveless a household as you could imagine. One of Dave’s earliest memories was of Bro slapping him for spilling juice on the carpet. He guessed he and Dirk were around six or seven. In general, memories of childhood were foggy, and only the bad ones seemed to have stuck around with any clarity. Neither twin had any friends at school for many years; everyone thought they were weird because their clothes were always too big, they never talked to anyone but each other, and they were always scruffy and beat up. Plus, there was the fact that they wore dark glasses all the time.

Dave remembered the first time a bully took his glasses away on the playground, leaving him half-blinded by the intense Texas sun and unable to defend himself as the other kids pointed and threw things at him. One of them grabbed him and started mashing his bare face into the ground, and Dirk had tackled the bully and nearly beaten him to a pulp. When the teacher finally hauled Dirk off of him, the kid laid there bawling in the dirt as blood gushed from his nose. Dirk’s own knuckles were bruised and bloodied. That was the first and only time a teacher called a conference with Bro, and Dave had no idea what he had said or done, but there was never a threat of intervention again. Bro was almost proud of Dirk, he’d smiled when he saw his split lip and busted knuckles. That didn’t change anything, though; he was still aggressive and antagonistic. When the wounds from strifing at home were especially noticeable, Bro would keep them home until they looked well enough to return to school again. Child services were never called, though Dave was conflicted on whether or not he wished they had. What would have happened if he had gotten separated from his brother? The thought made him sick even years after their escape.

John moved to town in sixth grade, and he had taken a shine to the Striders immediately. John’s dad was a busy businessman and his mother had died when he was too young to remember her, so the boys bonded over mutual loneliness. They spent most of their evenings piled up on the couch at John’s or sleeping on a pile of blankets on his bedroom floor. John’s dad, absent though he was, was kind to them. For the first time in their lives, the boys finally started putting on some weight while staying at his house, as the fridge had actual food in it rather than stupid swords or fireworks. On summer break, Mr. Egbert would take them to the lake or to the local water parks on the weekends he was home. Talking about this gave Dave pause. Even talking about his Bro, he hadn’t cried, but talking about Mr. Egbert made his eyes well up.

“We wouldn’t have survived without him,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “We just…we would never have made it. He was our dad as much as he was John’s.”

For a while, all Karkat could do was watch him stare out the window, eyes far away as he blinked back the tears. Eventually, he spoke up again. 

High school was rough for all involved. Bro was around less and less, but when he was home, he wanted to pick fights over anything and everything. The boys had been trained to sword fight before they were even big enough to properly hold a blade, and by their teens they each had more scars than they could count. Once, Dirk had broken his dominant arm severely, and they had made a rare trip to the hospital, an ordeal in and of itself since Bro made them go to one out of town to avoid suspicion. Afterward his hand was so damaged he thought he would have to give up building robots. Dave had found him crying in his room once because he couldn’t hold his soldering iron properly anymore. To make matters worse, around the end of their freshman year, John’s dad became determined to get him into a good school and made him travel around most weekends doing college tours until they graduated. Then, the summer they were seventeen, John went to visit his mom’s family overseas, and was gone the entire break. He kept in contact over text, but it wasn’t the same.

Meanwhile, Bro was rampaging, pushing harder than he ever had. Any iota of restraint he had shown before was gone, and he was relentless. He didn’t care to let the boys go to school with black eyes anymore, and no one said anything but John. By that point, though, they were nearing eighteen, and even if they were put into foster care, they would age out soon anyway. After Dave’s hip dislocation and Dirk’s injury, only about a year apart from each other, he had discreetly started numbing reality with the painkillers that were now frequently kept in the house. His memories from that period had a gauzy haze over them that made it hard to discern reality from dreams.

Dirk and Dave both earned scholarships to the local university and had begun saving up for an apartment their junior year. Technically, Bro’s place was close enough, but they had to get away. Dirk started selling questionable things on the internet, things he wouldn’t even talk to Dave about unless he absolutely needed to know. Dave didn’t pry often, as he had begun doing similarly. They stashed any spare change they could find in a coffee can in the back of Dirk’s closet, forged documents saying they were older than they were, anything it took to get themselves in the clear. One day, when Dave was taking a break from school work to edit a few tracks he had made for fun, Dirk let himself into his room, plopped down on the bed with his computer, and declared that they should start making music together for real. 

That had been the start of their career; mixtapes put up on Bandcamp and Soundcloud, just goofy stuff. “People really cream their pants for mashups and remixes of top forty hits,” Dirk said, so that was how they got their start. The money wasn’t great starting out, but one day, someone famous must have shared one of their tracks, because the boys woke up to find their site traffic had exploded. They made enough in a month to afford their deposit and rent on their first apartment together, and with some help from John and his dad, they moved out while Bro was out of town. They learned later that he had abandoned their old apartment, and had no idea where he had gone.

The rest was history; Dave didn’t do well in school but thrived when he was making things on his own, so he dropped out. Dirk, on the other hand, had finished his engineering degree while also juggling part time jobs and the occasional local gig. They had had their heads above water for the first time in their lives, “Until I got bad,” Dave sighed, staring at the blanket across his lap. “I still feel like all our problems are my fault, even if Dirk says they're not. And we managed. We’re still here. But I fucked up, and I don’t feel worthy of fucking anything anymore. Definitely not his respect, or anyone else’s.”

“That’s bullshit, Dave,” Karkat said, stern but soft. “Addiction doesn’t make you unworthy. You have every fucking right to be happy.”

He didn’t look up, but he did smile a little. Karkat could tell he was starting to really get choked up as he pulled him in close. They held each other tightly, Dave’s face hidden in the crook of Karkat’s neck, his hand rubbing between Dave’s shoulder blades. As Karkat had learned over the course of their time together, Dave talked to fill the silence because it made him anxious, so he started talking about any reassuring thing he could think of, in hopes that it would help.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that shit was like for you, but you made it out. You guys got away from him and you did it by yourselves, like, that’s some serious fucking strength. I could never. I know you’re gonna be stuck seeing his stupid fucking face behind your eyes when you go to sleep for the rest of your life but he’s never going to hurt you again. You’re going to be surrounded by people that care about you. I love you, and Dirk and your cousins and John do too—”

Dave looked up then, so sudden he almost headbutted Karkat in the nose, his eyes wide. Karkat backpedaled, regretted bringing up John. It was still a sore subject, even though Dave insisted he was okay. John hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year. _That was stupid,_ Karkat scolded himself internally.

“Did you just say you love me?” Dave asked.

 _OH._ Karkat’s mouth opened and closed, sputtering. _Did I say that out loud? Even stupider!_

“I’m sorry,” he said, and wanted to shove that back in his mouth too. “I—I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” _KARKAT STOP TALKING._

“But did you mean it?” Dave was doing that thing Karkat hated, where he was making his face as unreadable as possible. It made it even harder to decide what to say. What if he poured his heart out and Dave bailed?

“Do you want me to mean it?” he managed weakly. 

For a long, awful moment, Dave just watched him. His eyes were so intense, so striking without that thin layer of dark plastic, that Karkat almost wanted to break eye contact, almost wished for once that the shades were still on. He resisted, though, afraid that if he moved, Dave would take it wrong and shut down again.

He didn’t. Instead he grinned, a rare Strider smile complete with teeth. “You do mean it, don’t you?”

Dave was kissing him before he could answer. 

****

Not long after that, Karkat arrived to the apartment on the morning of his own birthday with coffee from Dave’s favorite shop and a box of the fancy pastries he liked, and Dave had a feeling he was being bribed. Karkat was acting uncharacteristically cagey and nervous as he sipped his macchiato, and Dave let him get away with it until he had finished his own coffee, babbling about the painting he was working on and how “Rose said it kinda looks like a Picasso but he was a pedophile so I don’t really jive with that, may have to scrap it and start over,” until finally, he leaned across the table, chin in hand, and asked “Okay, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Karkat scowled and sipped his coffee. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, ‘Kat. You’ve barely said two words to me since you got here. I know this is the good shit, but not even gourmet bear claws can stop you from flapping your trap usually. What’s going on in that noggin of yours?” he poked Karkat in the forehead for good measure.

Frustrated, Karkat buried his face in his hands. “My dad wants to meet you.”

There was a long pause where Dave was not sure how to respond. Karkat only seemed to burrow further into his shirt. 

“Is that bad?” Dave asked finally, feeling a tiny nibble of guilt tug at his stomach. Was Karkat ashamed of him? Immediately, his mind went worst-case scenario: He knew Karkat’s mother had died of an overdose. Was he embarrassed to bring home an addict after something like that? How much had he told his family about him? Or what if his dad was homophobic? He remembered their first meeting, when Karkat told him about how strict he was. What if he was a secret bigot or something?

Again, Karkat sighed a long-suffering sigh. “He’s just kind of a lot.”

“You’re sure it’s him and not me?”

At that, he whipped his head up. Dave wasn’t making eye contact. “Dude, of course it’s not you,” he insisted, reaching out to grab Dave’s hand. “I just. My family is loud and sort of obnoxious and I don’t know if you really want to deal with that.”

Dave smirked. “Well, I deal with you all the time, don’t I?”

Karkat scowled and smacked him on the arm as Dave laughed. He sat back in his chair and took a bite of his bear claw. “If you don’t want me to meet him I don’t have to,” Dave said, reaching out to wipe a crumb off of Karkat’s lip. “But if it’s me you’re worried about, I’ll be fine.”

Hesitantly, Karkat washed his pastry down with a swig of coffee. His throat felt dry with anxiety. “He wants us to have dinner with him like, tonight.” 

Dave grinned. “Guess I should call the cleaners and tell ‘em to put a rush on my tux, then.”

That night as the sun was setting, Karkat pulled up in front of his childhood home, Dave in the passenger seat. He had only been half-joking about wearing a suit. Karkat had only ever seen him dress like he was headlining Warped Tour, with ratty jeans, the red Converse sneakers he’d had since probably middle school, and a corny graphic tee from the collection that he and Dirk were so proud of, if he wore a shirt at all. On their second date, Dave had worn a threadbare black tee emblazoned with a frog on a skateboard and the phrase “TOADALLY RAD” in large, 80's-style purple font, and he had insisted that it was his nicest shirt. Tonight, though, despite his protests that he would be fine, Dave seemed nervous about his appearance. He had disappeared into Dirk’s room, and after several minutes of muffled arguing, he appeared wearing a white button-up shirt and Dirk following sleepily behind him. Karkat watched as Dirk helped him get his hair to lay right before giving Karkat a thumbs up, yawning, and disappearing back into his dark bedroom. 

By the time the transformation was complete, Dave looked a little bit less nervous, and a hell of a lot more clean-cut than Karkat (or anyone, for that matter) was used to seeing him. The dark jeans he had on didn’t have holes in the knees or the hems shredded, and the clean pair of sneakers he put on had to be excavated from where they were kept in the back of his closet, still in the box. Dave grinned mischievously when he caught Karkat gawking at him, though he did pout a little when Karkat insisted he button the neck up a little higher. 

As they sat outside the house, Karkat stared up the walkway, stalling. Dave noticed, and touched him on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t brought anybody home that I really cared about before, I guess.”

Dave was quiet, rubbing his thumb over Karkat’s shoulder soothingly as he could manage. “Well. Worst comes to worst, we can just leave.”

“I guess.”

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

Karkat paused. He thought about his mother, her kind brown eyes, her laugh. He thought about her as he had seen her last, tired and worn but still smiling as she sipped her morning coffee. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost feel the kiss she pressed to his forehead as he left for school. His throat tightened. “I just wish my mom could be here too.”

Dave looked sad, though he tried to hide it. He kissed Karkat, sweet and delicate enough that Karkat wanted to cry. As crass as they tended to be with each other, and as cool as Dave tried to pretend he was, Karkat was blown away with how tenderhearted he could be at times. Dave didn’t say anything else, just squeezed his shoulder and got out of the car. Karkat followed, and together they walked up the steps to the front door. 

Knowledge of basic genetics aside, Dave was still shocked to see that the man that answered the door was essentially a clone of Karkat, with some minor differences. He stood a few inches shorter than his son, and his short-cropped curly hair was streaked with silver. As soon as he saw his son, a bright grin cracked his stern face, and he pulled Karkat into a tight hug. Dave tried to offer him a hand to shake, but he got the “Oh please, you’re family!” treatment, and Mr. Vantas all but squeezed the air out of his lungs. He led the two of them through the house to the kitchen, where yet another Vantas clone stood at the counter, peeling potatoes. Karkat gave him a grimace as he, too broke into a wide smile. 

“You must be Dave,” he said, setting down the peeler and wiping his hands on the apron he wore. He offered Dave a hand, and Dave shook it, silently grateful that this one didn’t seem to be a hugger. “Kankri. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. As I am sure you are aware by now, my little brother is a talker. We have heard quite a bit about you!”

Before Karkat could threaten him, his father clapped a hand on his shoulder and guided him into the kitchen. “David, have a seat,” he instructed, as he handed Karkat an empty pot and directed him to fill it up with water. Karkat huffed but did as he was told. “Would you like a beer?”

Dave stammered out a no, and Karkat rolled his eyes. “They’re non-alcoholic anyway. Dad, honestly, how do you drink that piss?”

“Language!” Kankri and Mr. Vantas scolded him at once, and Dave stifled a laugh.

“That’s not even the worst shit I could have said,” Karkat grumbled as he took the pot to the sink. The other two Vantas men ignored him. Dave took a seat at a stool at the counter, nervously drumming a beat on the countertop with his fingers. Kankri eyed him curiously as he resumed peeling potatoes. 

“So,” Mr. Vantas said, sliding a brown glass bottle across the table to Dave on his way to the stove. Dave opened his mouth to protest, but realized it was just cream soda. “Karkat tells me you’re a musician.”

“Yes sir,” he said, sipping his drink gratefully and watching the Vantas family working around each other. Without being asked, Karkat had rolled his sleeves up and started cutting the potatoes Kankri had already peeled, dropping the cubes into the pot. Standing side-by-side, Dave observed their subtle differences; Karkat’s eyes were darker, his nose a little wider. Kankri was maybe an inch taller, and his curly black hair was cut shorter and appeared to have been combed, whereas Karkat usually just ran his fingers through his and hoped for the best. 

“What kind of music do you make?” Mr. Vantas asked. Dave watched as he opened the stove, poked at something covered in foil with a meat thermometer. 

“I…uh, well. A variety, I reckon,” Karkat shot Dave a look at that, and a smirk. Dave scowled back. His accent had a tendency to come out more when he was nervous, and Karkat liked to tease him about it. “My brother and I work nightclubs a lot.”

Mr. Vantas hummed as he stood up and set the thermometer on the counter. Dave noticed he had a golden wedding band on his finger that he twisted absentmindedly. “What instruments do you play?”

“My friend taught me a little piano as a kid. I’m decent at guitar and bass. The turntables are more my speed, though.”

The grin Karkat’s father flashed him crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Dave felt like he was looking into Karkat’s future. “We tried to teach poor Karkat guitar when he was little. His mother played beautifully. Poor thing never could quite get the chords quite right.”

“Oh my god, Dad,” Karkat huffed. Kankri chuckled beside him and took the pot of potatoes, salted the water, and placed them on a burner on the stove. 

“It’s true! He tried so hard, but even with his mama’s help, he just couldn’t make sense of it. He’s brilliant in other areas, but music—” 

“Okay, I’m officially calling a time out here. No more discussion of my shortcomings, please,” Karkat washed his hands and rounded the counter to stand next to Dave’s shoulder. Dave flashed him a smirk and wrapped an arm around his waist comfortingly.

“Ah, we’re just teasing,” his father laughed. “My wife, she always wanted her boys to be musical. Neither one of them really caught on. That might be my fault, I suppose. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket myself.”

“None of us can,” Kankri pointed out. He had turned to the stove and started stirring something in another pot that smelled delicious. He hoped no one could hear his stomach grumbling.

Mr. Vantas laughed. Dave tried to keep his face neutral as they watched him take a swig of non-alcoholic beer. _Nasty._ “My boys are talented in other ways. Both straight-A students, you know! I am so proud of you both.”

Karkat was scowling, in the way he did when he was trying to hide his embarrassment. Kankri, on the other hand, beamed at the praise. Dave watched as he puttered around the kitchen; he had expected that this evening Karkat’s dad would be the one doing all the cooking, but it seemed that Kankri was the one running the show. The whole house, by now, smelled amazing, and Dave realized how long it had been since he had had a homemade meal. Try as he might to learn how to cook, a childhood with Bro Strider was not one that involved much use of the kitchen. Dave’s brain was chock full of phone numbers to local takeout joints and microwave dinner instructions, and Dirk’s wasn’t much better. If it weren’t for the Lalondes, they likely would survive on frozen food and canned goods alone. Watching Kankri work was mesmerizing, and Dave tuned out the conversation between Karkat’s family without really noticing he had done so. He wondered dimly what it was like to grow up as part of a functioning family unit, with actual parents. The idea of Bro in the kitchen was so absurd Dave couldn’t even picture it. 

“Dave?”

He tuned back in and looked up at Karkat, who still seemed to be on edge. “Hm?”

“Dinner’s gonna be a bit. You want to see the house?”

Karkat didn’t so much give him a tour as he did lead him straight to his childhood bedroom, which was about as Dave had imagined it would be. Posters hung on the wall for a variety of goofy romantic comedies, including the same _Failure to Launch_ one John had had on his wall since they were kids. Dave smiled at the sight and tried not to think as he often did about how much John and Karkat would probably get along. On a shelf beside his desk was a stack of books, some about coding, others trashy romance novels. His bed was a mess, even though Karkat hadn’t officially lived here in over a year. Sometimes, Dave knew, he would come back home when he was stressed out. It was an intriguing thing to watch. Karkat would complain about his Dad’s hovering, his intensity, his inability to mind his business, and yet he got a loneliness sometimes that ran so deep nothing but being home could get it out of him. They argued and yelled in a way that Dave imagined would trigger his flight or fight if he were to witness it in person rather than from overhearing a phone call, but Karkat was comforted by the chaos. 

Dave shut the door behind him, lingering and looking around at the posters and photographs pinned to the wall as Karkat walked over to his bed and flopped back onto it, huffing. He seemed more at ease here, in his own space. Dave almost felt guilty; it was his birthday, after all, and he was spending it stressed out. He decided to give him a moment and chose to wander, peering closer at a cluster of photos around the mirror that sat on his dresser. Most of them were from high school, it seemed; there was Karkat, grumpy as always, baby-faced and sitting at a picnic table with a group of friends. One of the faces in the group was scribbled out with purple ink pen. Ignoring that, Dave grinned and gently touched a snapshot that looked like it was from a prom or homecoming, Karkat looking uncomfortable in a suit that didn't quite fit with a scrawny, pimply-faced kid wearing 3D glasses and a beautiful girl with a mane of long, fiery red curls flanking him on either side. Beside that was one of him and a girl with short dark hair and a pair of funky retro cat-eye glasses with red lenses. She was mushing her cheek against his sloppily, grinning wide with her tongue hanging out as Karkat grimaced and tried to shove her off. 

“It’s rude to snoop, y’know,” Karkat’s voice sounded muffled. Dave turned to see he had pulled a pillow over his face. He crossed the room to sit on the bed beside him.

“Like you’ve never snooped through my stuff,” he chided, poking Karkat’s side. He grunted and tossed the pillow at Dave’s face. It knocked his glasses askew, and Dave set them on the bedside table next to a photo frame. He didn’t say anything, but he knew it was Karkat’s mother. It was a professional-looking photo in a studio against one of those cheesy backdrops, and she looked radiant in spite of it. Her eyes were the same dark brown as Karkat’s crinkled at the edges as she laughed and brushed a strand of wavy, dark hair behind her ear. “You were a cute kid, what am I supposed to do? You’ve got all the primo material posted up for the ogling. Like my own private Vantas viewing gallery.”

Karkat rolled his eyes as Dave lay back beside him, tucking the pillow under his head. Dave made sure to leave enough room for Karkat to squirm up and use half of it himself. They lay nose to nose, both uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Are you holding up okay?” Dave asked, rubbing Karkat’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. He scooted even closer, tucking his head under Dave’s chin. It was contradictory, and they both knew it, but Dave didn’t pry. He gazed at the photo over Karkat’s head. He so rarely talked about his mother, even when it was visibly eating him up inside.

“Tell me about her?” Dave asked quietly, kissing Karkat on the top of his head. 

He didn’t move at first, and Dave just held him, worried. But then he pulled back, and his eyes were shiny with tears. He sniffled and wiped his face, voice shaky as he spoke. “She and I were so close,” he still wouldn’t make eye contact. “She loved Kankri too, obviously, but she babied the hell out of me. It drove dad up the fucking wall. We were always together. When I was really little, he used to bitch that she was making me too soft, said she was spoiling me. Maybe he was right.”

“Yeah, you are a bit of a brat,” Dave teased. Karkat finally looked at him long enough to scowl, and it warmed Dave’s heart. 

“When I was little, she was really depressed,” he spoke quieter now. “I tried so hard to make her feel better. I…I caught her using once, and I didn’t understand. She asked me not to tell Dad, so I didn’t. She went to rehab the first time when I was twelve, then again when I was fourteen. It seemed like she was better when she came back. I think she just…she just learned how to hide it from us.”

For a long time, he paused, just staring blankly. Dave didn’t push. “They fought a lot,” he said finally. “When I started high school, Kankri had moved out, and I could hear them yelling at each other almost every night. I didn’t see the signs that she was using again until it was too late, and I just…I couldn’t say anything to Dad. I didn’t want her to go away again. Maybe if I had said something…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Dave could fill the blank himself. Maybe if he had said something, she would still be there. Maybe if he had said something, she wouldn’t have died. The thought turned Dave’s gut, and he took Karkat’s face in his hands. 

“It isn’t your fault, K,” he said, kissing his forehead. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said. “But it feels like that sometimes.”

They lay curled up in each other until Mr. Vantas called them for dinner, and Karkat did his best to act normal. Dave wasn’t sure how to react when Kankri insisted on blessing the food, and Karkat laughed at him when Dave was so excited to take the first bite that he burnt his tongue. He didn’t want to spit it out and offend his dad, so instead, he gripped Karkat’s knee under the table and powered through the pain. By the end of the night, Karkat had relaxed considerably. As much as he complained about his Dad when he was upset, Karkat was at ease with his family. When they were walking to the door to leave later that night, Dave noticed the way Karkat hugged his father extra tight, lingering a second longer than he did when they first arrived. They drove in silence back to Dave’s apartment, hand in hand as always, and for a moment, Dave felt a twinge of jealousy. How unfair it was, that he had grown up so lonely. How different would he be if he had had an iota of normalcy? If his guardian hadn’t been a weird, egomaniacal, abusive sack of shit? Usually, he wouldn’t let it get to him, but tonight, once the glow had worn off, had made him remember how broken he felt. He chewed on the inside of his lip absently, staring out the window. 

Karkat broke him out of his gloom. His eyes were still on the road as he raised Dave’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Dave blinked and looked at him. Karkat was smiling. “My dad really liked you, y’know,” he said. “He said that you need to stop calling him ‘sir,’ but he told me after dinner that he thought you were a keeper.”

Dave blinked, shocked. The laugh he gave was more surprised than genuine. “That’s pretty fuckin’ corny, Vantas.”

Karkat scoffed and let go of Dave’s hand to push his face away. “That’s what I said, too. But I think he’s right, y’know. He wants us to spend more time over there. I think he gets lonely.”

Dave smiled. “I’d like that,” he replied. And he meant it. 

Maybe it wasn’t so awful, he mused, to grow up so lonely, if it meant healing felt this rewarding. If things had been different, maybe he wouldn’t have made it here. As Karkat kissed him goodbye, Dave asked him if he was sure he couldn’t spend the night, and as he so often did, Karkat pretended it was a hard decision before relenting and coming inside. Within an hour they were on the couch in their pajamas, Karkat dozing (and occasionally snoring) on Dave’s chest while a movie played softly in the background, and Dave’s heart felt so full it could burst.

“You’re a keeper, too,” he whispered into Karkat’s tangled curls when he thought he was finally asleep. 

“That’s pretty fuckin' gay,” Karkat mumbled drowsily.

“Fuck you,” Dave rolled his eyes and pretended to smother him with one of the throw pillows. Karkat snorted with laughter as he drifted back into unconsciousness. They stayed tangled up together until the sound of Dirk snapping a photo woke them both the next morning. Dave pretended to be mad until Karkat was out of the room, but when he got the chance, he made Dirk send him the picture to set as his phone background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things: 
> 
> \--Karkat's tattoo is of my favorite Max Ernst painting, "Halleluiah" which you can see [here](https://www.artic.edu/artworks/185759/halleluiah)
> 
> \--I hc John as being half vietnamese so thats where he spends the summer dave refers to in this chapter 
> 
> \--I am sorry for not actually giving Karkat's dad a name but all i could think of was Karl and i just couldnt LOL i am tired forgive me
> 
> \--i have the tshirt that dave wears on his and karkats second date and you can get one [here](https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/1426286-toadally-rad?feed_sku=1426286D1V&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=WITHIN_Shopping_TShirts_CA&gclsrc=aw.ds&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIiKiT0cqa6wIVA4rICh1Q1AN7EAQYASABEgLumfD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds)


	5. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_[Movin' so fast, the clock look slow (Slow)  
>  Water my seeds 'til the flower just grow, yeah  
>  Love so much that my heart get broke  
>  I don't really know how the normal shit go, so  
>  I guess I just play it by ear, silence is all that I hear  
>  Listenin' close as I can  
>  Growin' up (One, two, three), jump  
>  Nobody holdin' my hand, no  
>  Trust is a problem, never knew how  
>  Yeah, that's why I just keep to myself  
>  Get what I need, then I'll be out (Please tell me)  
>  Who can surf the universe with me?  
>  Lucifer is human, so are we  
>  All I ever want is what I need  
>  And that don't include your time and company  
>  Follow me, we on the up and up  
>  Remember when I owed a hundred bucks?  
>  Now, I look around like, "What the fuck?"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_O1qD95xnao) _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii
> 
> this one is mushy as FUCK for me and im very glad for it. i hope yall enjoy it too :-) We're getting some closure in here tonight, folks
> 
> please leave comments & kudos if you enjoy <333

**_Chapter Five_ **

Dave insisted that for his year anniversary, he didn’t want to do anything special.

“It’s awkward enough when y’all want to throw a birthday party for us every year,” he whined to Dirk, Roxy, Rose, Kanaya, and Karkat one evening. The six of them were crowded around the coffee table at the Maryam-Lalonde house, digging into a feast of Chinese takeout. “All the singing and the hugging. I don’t think this is that kind of occasion.”

“Dave, dearest, singing the birthday song is solely enjoyable because of how much it makes you squirm,” Rose cooed. Dave threw one of his crab rangoons at her and promptly got offended when she picked it up off her lap and ate it.

“I guess if you’re gonna be an ass about it we better cancel the mariachi band,” Dirk said solemnly. 

“And the strippers,” Roxy chimed in. The three other Strilondes nodded and murmured agreement. Dave scowled. 

“Honestly, guys,” he huffed, slurping down a mouthful of noodles and talking around them. “Rox’s thing is way more important than mine. What am I celebrating? Not being a mess anymore?”

“Oh, you are still very much a mess,” Kanaya piped up, and Rose snorted with laughter, almost choking on the bite of rice she had just put into her mouth. Kanaya gave her wife a mischievous smile as she patted her back. 

“Wow, thanks Kanaya. And here I thought you were on my side,” Dave pouted.

“I do not know how you came to be under that assumption, Dave.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Dave said as everyone else around the table laughed. “I don’t want to celebrate. Just buy me dinner when y’all get back and call it even.”

“Fine, if you say so,” Dirk agreed with a shrug, but the look he shot Karkat over the top of Dave’s head said otherwise. 

Dirk and both Lalondes were all about to leave town for over a week, and the Lalonde siblings had insisted on having the Striders over for dinner before they all split up. This week they had something special to celebrate; Roxy had officially decided to pursue medical transition. They would be doing their first testosterone injection that night after dinner. 

“Gotta do it for a crowd in case I pass the fuck out when I see that needle, y’know,” they had told Dave over the phone.

It was a decision that had been a long time in the making, and both twins had spent many a late night talking to him about masculinity and the fluidity of gender and reassuring them that whatever they discovered in the end, they would all love them just the same. When they had opened the front door that night and the Striders saw they had cut their hair shorter than Dave’s, there was a moment of stunned silence. Karkat blurted “Shit, you guys could be triplets,” and Roxy beamed, hugging him so tight he couldn’t breathe. 

It was a bittersweet evening, as it always was when one or more of them left town. This was a rarity, though, in that it was the first time that all three of them would be gone at once in over a year. Dave was the only one staying behind, and he was nervous. The cousins were incredibly close and were often together for dinner or dropping in on each other throughout the week. Dave and Roxy were especially bonded, more siblings than they were cousins, and many times Karkat had arrived to the twins' apartment to find the two of them already playing video games together or having an impromptu dance party by the synthesizers.

This would be the first time since before his overdose that Dave would be home alone, without a member of his family close enough to call. Karkat had volunteered to let him stay at his place, but Dave felt weird leaving the apartment for that long. As much as he enjoyed getting out, he was very much a homebody, and his anxiety was at its most manageable when he was able to crawl into his own nest of blankets and crash at the end of the day. They had decided that it would be better for Karkat to come camp out at the Strider residence instead; Dave had insisted he would be fine alone, but Karkat saw that kicked puppy look in his eyes when he said it. Thankfully, Karkat only had to work two weeknights and on the weekend, and Dave had nothing to do besides go to his meeting. By the time they had worked out a plan, he seemed so excited to have so much time alone with Karkat that he almost forgot his family would even be away. 

__

That night, as they all said goodnight and walked the Striders and Karkat to the door, Dirk grabbed Karkat’s arm. Dave, blessedly, was distracted talking to Roxy about the details of his upcoming business trip. “Hang back a sec,” he said. 

__

Karkat, still intimidated by Dirk all those months later, tried not to look panicked as they stepped away from the chatter by the door and into the kitchen. He took his phone out of his pocket and held it out to Karkat. “He’ll complain if I do this in front of him. Give me your number, in case something happens while I’m gone.”

__

Karkat agreed, and they exchanged contact information. Thorough and meticulous as ever, Dirk programmed the Lalonde siblings’ and Kanaya’s numbers into Karkat’s phone as well as his own. Karkat tried not to let the worry gnawing at the back of his mind chew all the way to the forefront. Dave was stable now, sure, but there was always the possibility of something triggering him. Karkat had seen him have a couple panic attacks over the course of their relationship, and they were intense; once he had gotten so lost, so glazed over in his terror that he thought Dirk was his Bro, and had socked him in the face as hard as he could in an effort to escape. Dirk, to his credit, was able to keep calm and remind Dave how to breathe, even with a concerning amount of blood pouring out of his nose. Those instances were increasingly rare, and Dave had done remarkably with Rose’s breathing and grounding exercises, but Karkat still couldn’t get the worry out of his head that he wouldn’t be able to help his partner in an emergency.

__

“Call me if you need anything at all. I’m just going down to Pasadena, so I can be back in a hurry,” Dirk said. He tallied the information he was relaying on his fingers as he spoke. “His meds have to be taken with food, so don’t let him weasel his way out of eating. You already know about his meeting schedule, so that’s taken care of. When you go to work, make sure you text us so me and the cousins know to keep an ear to the ground. Kanaya will be around, so she can help if you need her, but Dave isn't quite as comfortable with her as he is us so keep that in mind,” he paused, thinking. “I think that’s all. Do you have any questions for me?”

__

Karkat was kind of flabbergasted, and he could feel it showing on his face. “I don’t think so.”

__

Dirk half smiled, patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine, don’t sweat it. Don’t tell him I told you this, but we’ll be home earlier than he thinks.”

__

“Oh. Why?”

__

Karkat was nearly bowled over with shock when Dirk lowered his shades conspiratorially and winked an orangey-amber eye at him. “It’s a surprise.”

__

Dave was moody all day after Dirk left, as he often was when he left without him. Karkat took that as his cue to start the festivities, and made Dave get dressed and eat breakfast. The two of them drove around the city aimlessly for a while, the radio blasting. Gradually, Dave perked up. By the time Karkat was tired of driving, he was [rapping along enthusiastically to the radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hA8xt5Liyaw) like nothing had ever soured his mood. Karkat kissed him in the McDonalds drive-thru to make him stop talking about Eminem’s extensive vernacular (or rather, lack thereof) for, like, _a second_ , and with their bags of greasy fast food they went back to the Strider residence for a romantic evening of shitty movies and shittier Xbox games, which Dave insisted was a family tradition. Karkat complained when the Tony Hawk ripoff glitched out so terribly they had to shut down the whole system and pick a new game, but when Dave’s back was turned, he smiled at the back of his head. It was the ideal evening, really. 

__

The first three days continued in a similar fashion. Karkat went to work at night and worried in spite of himself the entire time, even when Dave sent him plenty of memes and long, rambling blocks of text to let him know he was safe and in good spirits. When he finally got home from his second shift of the week, sweaty, grumpy, and tired, it warmed his heart to find Dave passed out on the couch with Jersey Shore playing on mute. Judging by the empty Monster cans on the coffee table, he had tried to wait up for him, and he only protested weakly when Karkat woke him and made him come to bed. The next morning, he was up before Karkat, a rare feat, sitting at the kitchen counter with a coffee and muttering to himself over his notebook. That was on Wednesday. Thursday night was Dave’s meeting, and he was nervous. Karkat had seen him scribbling something in that notebook that was decidedly not song lyrics, but decided not to press the issue. He knew that Jane would likely ask him to speak again since it was his one year, and while he figured he could get out of it if he really wanted, he had put a lot of thought into what he wanted to say. Karkat noticed him putting a little more effort than usual into his outfit that night, too; once again, he stole a little of Dirk’s hair product to try and smooth out his impossible cowlick, and put on a button-up t-shirt with cacti and desert scenes all over it. He did a little twirl to show it off to Karkat, who laughed and swatted him on the butt playfully as they ventured out the door. 

__

Karkat agreed to let Dave drive his car to the meeting, courtesy of the shiny new reinstated license in his wallet, and he spent the drive kicked back in the passenger seat, not letting Dave pick the music. He didn’t seem phased, though, and even sang along to [a couple of](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEB6ibtdPZc) [the songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOubzHCUt48) despite his teasing that Karkat had the music taste of an eleven-year-old scene kid. Which, of course, was true, but it was still rude to point out, Karkat told him. Dirk texted as they were pulling into the church lot.

__

  
DIRK: Hey.  
DIRK: How is he?  


__

  
KARKAT: GOOD. HE SEEMS TO BE HAVING A GOOD TIME.  
KARKAT: I THINK HES SHITTING HIS PANTS OVER TONIGHT’S MEETING A LITTLE BIT.  
KARKAT: THE WHOLE WAY HERE HE WOULDN’T STOP TALKING TO ME ABOUT HOW THE SONG [“FERGALICIOUS”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5T0utQ-XWGY) WAS A “CULTURAL RESET,” WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS.  


__

  
DIRK: Sounds about par for the course with him.  
DIRK: I’m glad to hear it’s going well.  
DIRK: Thank you. For staying with him.  
DIRK: I know he would be okay alone. But.  


__

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Karkat knew what hung on that ‘but.’ 

__

  
KARKAT: YEAH.  
KARKAT: NO NEED TO THANK ME THOUGH, REALLY.  
KARKAT: IM PREACHING TO THE FUCKING CHOIR WHEN I SAY THIS, IM SURE, BUT HE’S WORTH IT.  


__

  
DIRK: I would be inclined to agree.  


__

Karkat tried to hide his smile as he walked inside with Dave. Over the six months they had been together, he and Dirk had traded off giving Dave rides to the meetings. He had watched Dave discreetly, pretending to look at his phone when Dave glanced his way, but he always listened. Sometimes, the stories other attendees told got to be too much, hit too close to home, and Karkat had to tune them out. But he always listened to Dave and relished in the trust he clearly had for him by even letting him into the room. That night was no different; Karkat greeted Jane, got a cup of coffee, set up at his post in the corner as the attendees circled up. As the proceedings went on, he could see Dave’s anxiety build and ebb. His knee would bounce rapidly, then slow as he remembered his breathing. Karkat swelled with pride every time he saw it happen, even though he wasn’t the one to teach him those techniques. It was growth, and there was something so special about watching Dave come into his own.

__

As predicted, near the end of the meeting, Jane began distributing chips. There were a few thirty days, a few nineties. When it came Dave’s turn, she gave him a big smile. “Dave, this is a very special meeting for you. Your first birthday! Congratulations!” 

__

Dave blushed and thanked her as a smattering of applause and murmured congratulations washed over the circle. He had his glasses on, but Karkat felt confident that he was getting misty behind the tinted lenses. 

__

“Would you like to say a few words?” She asked.

__

Dave nodded, took a deep breath. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and cleared his throat. “Well, uh, hi y’all. I’m Dave, and I’m an addict,” the chorus of ‘hi Dave’s from the assembly made him smile. “Like Jane said, this is my first birthday. I’ve been sober a year now. It’s fucking wild to think about, honestly. I kind of didn’t realize how uh…how long I had been in the shit, I guess, until I started coming up on this day. 

__

“I started popping pain pills pretty regularly when I was sixteen or seventeen. I thought it was okay, since they made me feel better. It didn’t feel like it was something I should be worried about, y’know? And no one really noticed. Not that I blame them, of course. My brother and I both get real nasty migraines, so we were always eating fistfuls of Excedrin and shit. Our kidneys are surprisingly still intact,” that earned him a halfhearted laugh. “By the time I got into the harder shit, I thought it was too late to stop. I was just managing. It was something I thought I had to do.

__

“I've mentioned before how my addiction sort of tore me and my family up. I didn’t really mention then how fucked up we were to begin with. My Br—my dad,” Karkat was shocked to hear him actually say it in front of all these people. Frankly, Dave seemed a little shocked that he had said it himself. “He was…he was abusive. God, that feels weird to say out loud. He’d definitely call me a pussy for that. My brother and I went without a lot. Food, clothes, utilities, whatever. He beat the living dog shit out of us under the guise of making us stronger. So like, my foundation was already rocky. And he was a drinker on top of that. I think I had my first beer when I was…shit, like, eight? Nine?”

__

Karkat watched as he paused, chewed on his lip and stared into his lap for a long moment. “If you asked me last year where I thought I would be at this point, I would have told you I would be dead. I really didn’t think I would make it this far. But I did. I burned a whole hell of a lot of bridges on the way here, but I’m learning that you can always rebuild, y’know? And I’m pretty damn proud of myself. I want to keep that up. I want to love myself as much as the people in my life love me. They set a pretty fuckin’ lofty standard, but hey, I’m up for a challenge.”

__

When Dave looked up, Karkat didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t been watching. Instead, he grinned at him, a little teary-eyed, and Dave grinned back. 

__

After the meeting dispersed, the two of them sat across from each other at a table on the patio of Dave’s favorite restaurant, a tiny place that he insisted had the best fried chicken in the state. The heat of the day had lessened some, but it was still a muggy August night, and cicadas and crickets sang their droning song over the passage of traffic. Karkat cursed and swatted him away as Dave tried to take pictures of him across the table, insisting that he didn’t want to be the center of attention on Dave’s day. Dave argued that it wasn't technically his day until Saturday, by the calendar. Plus, even if it was, he should be able to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was pictures of his “smokin’ hot boyfriend and some smokin’ hot chicken” to remember the night by. Suddenly, his phone _ding_ ed, and he stopped antagonizing Karkat long enough to answer. He lowered his camera and started typing. 

__

  
DIRK: Hey.  
DIRK: So listen. I’ll be home tonight.  
DIRK: I have a surprise for you.  


__

  
DAVE: oh ho ho did someone pick me up a souvenir on his business trip for once  
DAVE: im flattered brother dearest but youd better be careful not to spoil me too bad  
DAVE: who knows what that kinda power will do to me ill be insatiable  
DAVE: youll never be able to leave the house again without me slobbering all over your grubby mitts upon your return like pavlovs really confused dog  
DAVE: you know me i cant handle the excitement i get one crumb and then its over  
DAVE: ill start tugging on your pant leg like a sad little dickensian orphan  
DAVE: please sir may I have some more  
DAVE: please spare but one attention  
DAVE: anyway  
DAVE: whatd you get me  


__

  
DIRK: Okay, one: it wouldn’t be a surprise if I just told you. Obviously.  
DIRK: Two: don’t let it go to your head, it’s already gigantic.  
DIRK: Just be home within an hour.  


__

  
DAVE: ok wow  
DAVE: this had better be a good surprise since you think its cute to cyberbully me like this  
DAVE: my head isnt that big is it  
DAVE: dirk  
DAVE: dirk  
DAVE: dirk hey  


__

When Dirk didn’t reply, Dave huffed and pocketed his phone. “Dirk is coming back early. Says we need to be home in an hour.”

__

Karkat raised his eyebrows. Huh. He wasn’t kidding about being early. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Sunday night, according to the itinerary he had given Dave. He paid for their meal despite Dave’s protests, and the two shuffled out of the restaurant and back to the car with their bags of leftovers. On the ride home, he let Dave connect his phone to the radio, and didn’t complain much when he played the most obnoxious songs he could think of for the first half of the drive. [What’s New Pussycat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQvIAs-nPSo) was put into the queue three times, making Karkat so angry that he almost drove the car into a ditch on the third rotation while Dave laughed hysterically in the passenger seat. 

__

As they neared home, Dave had his feet on the dash, the windows down, and the volume turned up high. [The next song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H44EksfO34w) that came on was one he genuinely enjoyed, and he didn’t change it to something that would piss Karkat off. Instead, he grinned to himself as he let it play, the music washing over him. He closed his eyes, letting the wind whip through his hair, and sang along,

__

> __
> 
> _“I seem to make apologies, More often than twice  
>  And now you're all Choked up tight  
>  You're lying on the Living room floor, waiting  
>  For somethin' to be said  
>  There's somethin' in my head, But I can't get it out  
>  All the main elements / Are what it's all about  
>  With nothing in the end / Still I'll be waiting  
>  My collapse an inch away, It fills me with regret  
>  And while you're Pausing to reflect  
>  I'm pacing 'round and 'round the kitchen,  
>  Waiting…”_
> 
> __

__  


The feel of Karkat’s hand reaching over and taking the phone from Dave’s made him open his eyes and start to protest, but he wasn’t trying to change the song. Instead, he placed the phone in the cup holder and took Dave's hand. When they met eyes, just for a second before he looked back at the road, Karkat smiled. It was such a sweet, genuine gesture, and that look on his face was such a true glimpse of that soft side that Karkat did his best to hide behind bravado and crude language, that Dave couldn’t help but grin back. They were a lot alike in that regard. Despite Dirk’s time limit, they took the long way home. The rest of the drive was spent hand in hand, and the elevator ride up to Dave’s floor after that. They were still chatting as Dave unlocked the door, explaining something extremely technical, confusing, and long-winded about making music with some sort of old synthesizers. Karkat, to his credit, was pretending that he knew what was going on, asking questions at times that seemed appropriate and nodding along. He almost ran right into Dave when he stopped dead in his tracks.

__

There was a man Karkat had never seen before standing in Dave’s living room. Prior to their entry he had been talking to Dirk, who was leaned casually against the back of the sofa beside him, the two almost close enough to touch. Roxy was talking and working on something in the kitchen out of sight, and Rose and Kanaya were seated at the kitchen counter, but Karkat barely noticed. He couldn’t stop staring, wondering why this person felt so familiar. He was tall, though not quite as tall as the Striders, with sunkissed olive skin and thick, dark hair framing his face in tousled tufts and waves. Despite the thick, rectangular spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose, his blue eyes were piercing and vibrant. He and Dirk were both wearing party hats shaped like unicorn horns. He looked equally stunned at the sight of Dave, a bit nervous, and then his face softened. He pushed himself up from where he was leaning and held his arms out.

__

“Surprise, asshole.”

__

“John,” Dave barely breathed his name, and before Karkat could process, Dave was throwing himself at him, nearly bowling him over the back of the sofa. John squeezed him tight, laughing and crying at once.

__

Dirk looked pleased with himself and patted his brother on the back before waving Karkat inside to the kitchen. He handed him a party hat, and quietly, as if not trying to disturb them, Dirk explained, “They’re probably gonna need a minute. C’mon, Rox makes some damn good lemonade. We’ll be cutting the cake when they get over their sob-fest.”

__

“Cake?” Karkat asked dazedly. Dirk pointed to a bakery box, sitting open on the counter. It was round, decorated like a record, with “ _HAPPY ONE YEAR DAVE!_ ” written on it in elegant red script. Karkat felt a lump rise in his throat as Roxy offered him a glass of strawberry lemonade, and he looked over at Dave. He knew, sort of, about the falling out with John, and though Dave wasn’t one to talk about it in detail, it was clear he had been heartbroken. Karkat thought often that Dave grieved the loss of his best friend like he had actually died. Any time it came up he deflected, changed the subject, laughed it off. He pretended that there wasn’t a giant gap in his life that he had tried to patch over and move on.

__

Watching them now, together in the living room, Karkat was at a loss for words. Part of him wanted to be angry that John had left for so long, arguably when Dave needed him the most. Clearly, though, the distance had hurt them both. John was a blubbering mess, and Dave wasn’t much better off. Karkat turned back to Roxy and Dirk, who were clinking their glasses together with Rose and Kanaya in celebration. All of them, he now noticed, were wearing the unicorn party hats. He imagined Dirk had had a field day picking them out at the party store. They all looked so proud of themselves, and Karkat wondered how long they had been planning this. Their business trips, he was realizing, were all likely an elaborate ruse (a distaction, if you will). The thought made him start to get choked up further, especially when Roxy turned to him, clinked their glass on Karkat’s. 

__

“Thanks for helping us with the festivities, bud.”

__

“I—hey, this was all you guys. I honestly had no idea,” he replied weakly.

__

Roxy grinned, and Karkat again marveled at how much they looked like Dave. The pink tint they had given their hair and the height difference were distinguishing features, but the resemblance really was uncanny. “Yeah, but you played a part anyway! Plus, y’know, you’ve kept him from sulking around the house all miserable all the time. Before you he was a little bit of a sad sack.”

__

Karkat blinked, surprised. “He was?”

__

Roxy’s smile dimmed a bit, and they looked sad at the memory. “Yeah. We tried, but...y'know. He was real lonely. It’s nice to have him back to his old self.”

__

Dazed with the sheer joy and energy of the room, Karkat turned back again to watch Dave. He remembered the night they met, the first time he laid eyes on Dave in that alley. He was thinner back then, and looked exhausted, wrung out. When he had looked up in surprise, Karkat caught a glimpse of his eyes, shocking red and rimmed with dark circles. At that point, neither of them had any idea what a low spot they each were trying to pull themselves out of. Just a few hours before their meeting, Karkat had been standing in a graveyard on the other side of the city, leaving flowers for his mother. Seven years to the day she had been gone, and Karkat ached for her like it was the first day all over again. His brother and father hadn’t made time to come visit her with him and hadn’t in years. He had cried in the car realizing he no longer remembered what her voice sounded like. Hearing Roxy talk about it, it was hard not to feel like Dave had been dropped in his lap when they needed each other the most. 

__

“I’m so sorry,” Dave was saying to John. They had finally stopped clinging to each other and stepped back to collect themselves, Dave using the hem of his shirt to wipe the tears off his face.

__

“I know, dude. It’s okay. I’m sorry too,” John wiped sloppily at his teary face with one big palm. “I should have called you back.”

__

“I shouldn’t have filled your voicemail up.”

__

“It’s in the past, man.”

__

“I thought I would never see you again.” 

__

“Like I would ever do that to you, dumbass,” John held his best friend at arm’s length, and they just looked at each other, taking in the changes. “I just needed some time.” A year away, when they’d spent their entire childhoods together, felt like an eternity to them both. John smushed Dave’s face between his palms, laughing as he tried to squirm away indignantly. Dave snatched John’s glasses, then John his, and they both held them up to their respective faces.

__

“Holy shit your eyes got worse,” Dave exclaimed, screwing up his face.

__

“Speak for yourself, how do you even see through these?” John swapped their glasses back as Dave jabbed him in the side with a knuckle.

__

“When the fuck did you turn into such a beefcake, Egbert? Not fair.” 

__

“Ow! It's not my fault you’re still a damn bean pole, dude, I swear. Even Dirk’s bony ass is putting on bulk, why are you so scrawny?”

__

“I’m a delicate flower, as always.”

__

“I guess some things never change!” John shoved his arm playfully.

__

Dirk interrupted then, walking over to his twin and touching him on the shoulder. Dave turned, and before he could deflect, Dirk snapped one of the unicorn party hats onto his head, letting the little elastic pop him in the chin. Dave cursed, but laughed, and punched his brother in the shoulder. They hugged each other tightly, and Karkat cursed them internally for the tears he could feel welling up in his eyes again. How dare they make him so emotional with their sappy bullshit? Moving on, Dave greeted Kanaya and Rose with a hug. Rose whispered something in his ear, and Dave laughed, kissed his cousin on the cheek. Kanaya delicately pushed his face away when he turned to her, and he made a show of being offended and making a kissy face at her. Roxy handed him a glass of lemonade, and Dave ruffled their hair in thanks. Slyly, behind Dave’s back, Karkat noticed John give Dirk an affectionate side hug before he walked up to Karkat, grinning brightly.

__

“Hi Karkat!” He said. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

__

Karkat noticed the way Dirk was looking at them and made a mental note to ask about it later. Maybe when Dave wasn’t around. “You too,” he said, and John beamed. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

__

“Good things, I hope,” he smiled when he said it, but a tinge of concern edged his voice. 

__

“Jesus, I told you guys I didn’t want a party,” Dave groaned. John and Karkat turned their attention to where Dave was standing in the kitchen, looking into the cake box.

__

“Oh, come on, sour puss, Dad made it just for you,” John said.

__

That gave Dave some pause, and he eyed the cake as he took a sip of lemonade. “No singing?”

__

“Not this time,” Dirk assured him.

__

The brothers smirked at each other, and Dave darted out a hand to pop the elastic on Dirk’s party hat. Dirk let him, and Karkat half wondered if they were going to end up in one of their infamous one-up wars later. For now, though, Dirk just shoved him and went to retrieve the ceremonial cake-cutting sword, one of those crappy miniature katanas that was little more than a glorified kitchen knife, as was Strider tradition. As promised, there was no singing. Rose snapped a few pictures as Dave carefully cut his cake, making sure to give himself the piece with his name on it. They all talked and laughed together, reminiscing with John until the wee hours of the morning. The girls and Roxy started collecting themselves to leave around four, when Kanaya began to nod off on Rose's shoulder. As they headed for the door, Dave caught John by the arm and pulled him aside.

__

“You aren’t leaving yet, are you?” he asked, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt.

__

John smiled. “Nah. I’ll be here for the weekend, and after that too. Dirk has actually been helping me move back to town this week. I only live a couple miles away, as of this morning.”

__

Dave clenched his teeth, trying and failing to hold back tears. He was so utterly overwhelmed. John looked panicked as he rubbed his eyes and shuddered out a breathy half-sob half-laugh. "Oh Jesus," John laughed awkwardly. "Don't cry, you dick, I'm gonna cry again too, fuck." The rest of the partygoers had the good grace to pretend they didn’t notice as the two friends hugged each other again. After they all said their goodbyes, Dave and John retreated to the living room to argue over what game to play like a couple of eighth graders at a slumber party while Dirk and Karkat tidied up the kitchen. Karkat saw it as an opportunity to be nosy.

__

“So,” he said, quietly and nonchalantly as possible. “You and John?”

__

Purposefully vague though he was, the words sent a jolt through Dirk. He whipped his head around to look at Karkat like he had been caught shoving packs of Pokemon cards into his pockets at the local Target. He floundered for a moment, and Karkat had to stifle his laughter.

__

“Don’t say anything to Dave yet,” he managed weakly. “I know he won’t be mad, but it’s not the right time.”

__

“My lips are sealed for the foreseeable future. How long have you two dipshits been playing hide the sausage?” Karkat did laugh then, as Dirk made a disgusted face and turned red to the tips of his ears. 

__

“Jesus, Vantas. You’ve been spending too much time around my brother.”

__

“Dodging the question, I see.”

__

Dirk rolled his eyes and busied himself with putting the rest of the glasses in the sink. In the other room, Dave and John were still arguing loudly about Sonic the Hedgehog, but Dirk still lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost three months now. I didn’t want Dave to know it, but we’ve been in contact this whole time. He wanted space, but he was still worried about him, and. Well. He was always Dave’s best friend, but we were close too, and when I went to see him again after so long it just sort of happened.”

__

Karkat raised an eyebrow. Thinking back, that had been when Dirk’s “business trips” had really started to increase in frequency and length. The conversation officially ended itself when Dave called Karkat in for backup, and he excused himself from the kitchen to go flex his arguing muscles. 

__

The four of them played video games until the sun came up, and finally ended their deadlocked Mario Kart tournament when Karkat gave in and laid down across Dave’s lap, promptly falling asleep. Dave didn’t even complain when John put Con Air on in the background, and even found himself watching it and humming along to [How Do I Live](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Olo8gzgpC4) as John and Karkat snored in stereo. The nostalgia the movie brought with it felt like a warm blanket, and as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he felt like he was finally coming home after a long time away. There was still a long journey ahead, he knew. Every day would be different; maybe there would be rough patches, and maybe there would come times when he wanted to give up hope again. But right now, he was happy, so purely, genuinely happy, that he almost thought he was dreaming. Karkat made the moment real, as he yawned and blinked sleepily up at Dave in the dim light of the TV. He wiggled his way up to lie nose-to-nose with Dave, pressed their foreheads together. 

__

“We could go get in bed,” he murmured. 

__

Dave hummed, Karkat’s yawn spreading to him. Karkat tried to stick a finger in Dave’s mouth, and Dave tried to bite it. Neither attempt was successful. “Nah,” he said finally, snuggling down into the blanket. “Don’t wanna move.” 

__

Truthfully, he thought as he drifted off again, he was afraid if he moved, it would all fade like a mirage. And while Dave had never been a fan of birthdays in the past, this one might have changed his mind. As he dozed, he almost felt like if he thought about it hard enough, maybe he could stop time and live in that night forever. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo unless i write too much on the next chapter, that will be the final epilogue chapter. not sure yet. we will see!
> 
> (EDIT 10/2020: wrong, theres more, ignore me LOL)
> 
> notes: 
> 
> if you dont know the joke about what's new pussycat, please watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mw7Gryt-rcc&t=2s) video. peak comedy and big john and dave dipshit energy


	6. Stay the Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_[Well, when the sky comes down  
>  Got nowhere to go  
>  You find yourself feelin' low and blue  
>  Well remember me a rainbow  
>  Technicolor table  
>  After April showers and the dew  
>    
>  Well the road is long  
>  It ends too soon  
>  Some of us are taught to stay the course  
>  Tears will turn to laughter  
>  And this I know is true  
>  You always have a friend to see you through](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSIytrUG5Hg) _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks!
> 
> so remember last time when i said this would probably be an epilogue?? yeeeeah, turns out, i still have a lot of story i want to include here, and i just kept writing, and now it has been a month since i updated and im not satisfied. so we are gonna shoot for a nice round ten chapters! that should be plenty. hopefully thats good news for yall. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, i truly appreciate all of you. this fic surpassed 500 hits this month, and i just. wow. i love yall so much. thank you.
> 
> don't forget to mind the warnings. i have updated them accordingly.
> 
> enjoy!!

**_Chapter Six_ **

When the bell rang for the homerooms to dismiss and send the kids out to their first period classes, John was already waiting by Dave’s locker, nervously clutching his backpack straps in his hands. He had waited out front as long as he could, hoping to see the twins arrive before the day officially started, but when they hadn’t shown up, John had run on to class, fearful of the hall monitor reprimanding him and snitching to his Dad that he was late. He hid his phone under the desk and shot Dave a text as soon as he was in his seat, ignoring the morning announcements.

  
JOHN: dude!! where are you???  
JOHN: i thought you said you guys were coming back today?  
JOHN: please tell me you aren’t still sick, i’m gonna be so bummed.  
JOHN: soooooooo bummmmmmmmed  


DAVE: sorry dude we had to drag bros lazy ass out of bed to come in and do paperwork and shit and he made us late  
DAVE: apparently being out of school for this long means they wanted him to come verify we werent just dicking around on the internet all day  
DAVE: like as much as we would love it if that were the case and me and dirk got a fun lil staycation to chillax and watch dr. phil i was actually busy trying not to let my brains melt  
DAVE: but forreal once we get done with all the doctors notes and proving we arent robots and shit ill actually be back so dont get your panties in a twist  
DAVE: bro says i gotta put the phone away gtg see you before first  


And so John slipped out early, under the excuse that he had to go to the restroom, and set up camp waiting for Dave. He had known something was wrong the first day Dave hadn’t come to school, when his normally lengthy stream of texts dissolved into short responses with more typos than usual. Normally, if he was having a migraine, he would say so, and put his phone away to sleep it off. This was different. Dave was talking in circles, not making much sense. John tried to call him to find out what was really going on.

"I'm just a little sick," he explained, his already-quiet voice sounding weak and small over the phone. "'S probably nothin'. Dirk made a pretty hilarious face last time he took my temp, you shoulda seen it. He's on his mother hen bullshit so don' worry, I'll be back on my feet in a few days."

He had only managed a few minutes on the line before he started mumbling incoherently, dozing and losing consciousness. John kept in contact with Dirk, but a few days later when he, too, stopped responding to calls and texts, he began to fear for the worst. He didn’t know who to reach out to. He had never been to their house, so had no idea what to tell the dispatch even if he did call for help. Plus, Dave had mentioned before his fear of Child Services splitting him and Dirk up, and John feared that calling the authorities would make that a reality. He could only wait, continue to call and text the twins, and hope that eventually he would hear some good news.

When he found out that they had both been admitted to the hospital, John broke down in tears. He spent the whole night wide awake and worrying, beating himself up internally for not being able to help his friends.

It had been a month since then, and the twins were finally well enough to come back to school. John had stayed up far too late the night previous, excitedly chatting with Dave about what he had missed and how good it would be to have him back again. Every sound and movement in the empty hall perked his ears, but it wasn’t until after the bell rang and people flooded the hall that he finally saw them: two blond heads bobbing through the crowd. Unable to contain his excitement any longer, the second he saw Dave’s face, he lunged, flinging his arms around his neck and almost toppling his best friend to the ground.

Dave’s squawk of surprise normally would have made John burst into laughter, but he was too busy crying to give him shit for it. Dave was already hugging him back, his grip feeling weaker than usual, but warm and comforting nonetheless. Around them, other students were staring and muttering as they passed, but neither of them noticed. They stood in the middle of the hall, an island in a sea of their peers, and reveled in the sweetness of their reunion. A month away, to their young minds, felt like an eternity. 

Eventually, they pulled apart. The bell had rung, and the rest of the stragglers were hustling off to class. Dirk had once been standing behind his brother, but it seemed that while they were occupied, he had gathered his books and been on his way already. John was vaguely disappointed as he wiped his tears on his sleeve. He had been hoping Dirk would let him hug him for once, too. Shrugging that thought off, he affectionately punched Dave in the arm. “I thought you were going to die, dude!” he was laughing and sniffling at the same time. “Never do that to me again, you jackass!”

“I won’t,” Dave replied, smiling back. “I promise.”

*****

As they got older, it became more apparent that Dave was having a harder time coping with his past than he liked to let on. On some level, John knew they both had deep-rooted anxiety and abandonment issues; he saw it in the way the twins orbited around each other, never too far out of sight if they could help it. He saw it in the way they talked about their Bro, glancing around furtively like he would pounce from the shadows even years after their last in-person encounter with him. He knew that their home life was unhappy, to say the least. When they were kids, neither of them would allow him inside the apartment. Once, he had tagged along so that they could pick up supplies for an impromptu sleepover. He was instructed to stand in the lobby and wait.

“But why?” he asked, pouting. "If your Bro's not coming back for a couple days, how come I can't come up? We always hang out at mine, I wanna see your place!"

“Trust me, John, you don’t wanna meet the puppets,” Dave sneered. “They’re wack, and anyone who says otherwise is delusional.”

Dirk cuffed him on the back of the head. “Say that again and I’ll bring Cal with us.”

“Please, like Bro would let him out of his sight for that long. Besides, only the inundated can handle the sheer sexual tension of being surrounded by all that muppet ass, Dirk, you know this. It would kill him, is that what you want? We only have like, one friend.”

“I have other friends,” Dirk pointed out.

Dave rolled his eyes so hard, it was visible even with his shades firmly in place on his nose. “Wow, way to brag. Also, totally not the point.”

John wrinkled his nose. “Dave, I just think they creep you out.”

“Fuck you, they do not. What kind of a wuss is scared of puppets?”

Dirk smirked. “I can think of one.”

“Fuck. You. Both.”

He waited patiently by the row of mailboxes in the lobby, taking in the scenery. The tile floor was filthy, the ceiling water stained. The fluorescent lights were only about 60% functional, a few of them flickering and twitching irritably where they headed off down the hall toward the elevator, which John noticed had an “out of order” sign on it that seemed to be as old as the building itself. When Dirk and Dave returned, they hustled him back onto the street and to the bus stop in anxious silence. None spoke until they sat on the bench to wait for the late bus back to John's house across town. Dirk stood a few paces away, his back turned and ramrod straight. Dave pointedly was not looking at him.

“What’s wrong?” John whispered to Dave.

“Bro was home,” he replied, voice barely a mutter. All traces of their earlier good humor were gone.

John wanted to press further, but he noticed the way Dirk was angling his head, gingerly touching the right side of his face. Later that night, a black eye would bloom, the bruise spreading over his cheekbone. He knew better than to mention it. When he was confident that his dad was asleep, John tiptoed down to the kitchen to get him a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel. They sat side by side on the floor while Dave mumbled in his sleep. John had to try his best to hold back tears when Dirk rested his head on his shoulder and mumbled a pitiful “thanks," carefully holding the cold pack to his swollen face. 

Years later, when he was enlisted to help them move, he would finally see their childhood home. It was dismal and small, a cluttered, dimly-lit two-bedroom for the three of them. The kitchen was essentially non-functional, an odd assortment of weapons and inedible shit piled on the countertops and taking up the entirety of the refrigerator and oven. John noticed as he helped them pack that there were multiple first aid kits squirreled away in most of the rooms of the apartment, including two in the kitchen and one tucked under the futon. There was a towel hanging on the back of Dave's door that looked suspiciously blood stained. Bro’s bed was the ratty futon in the living room, little else on it aside from a blanket and a couple of flat pillows. His TV and computer appeared to be worth more than anything else in the apartment, and were perched on stands made of old plywood and cinder blocks. Various plush dolls and puppets were strewn about. John had assumed Dave was joking about them all those years, but seeing their bulging eyes and creepy, phallic noses in person made him uneasy. Then again, the whole place gave him a sense of unease.

Everything the boys owned fit snugly into the bed of Dave’s pickup in a couple short trips, done over a single day. On the last round, they were getting ready to do a final sweep of the apartment when Dave suddenly cursed and ushered them both into the cab of the truck.

“We’re out of time,” Dave said as he stared out the windshield. John followed his gaze. Standing on the sidewalk was a man, tall and broad, wearing a ball cap, a white polo, and a familiar pair of pointy sunglasses. Even a fair distance away, it was obvious who he was. He had the same jawline, the same whitish-blonde hair poking out from under his hat. He was gazing back at them, straight-faced, arms crossed. Dave shifted the truck into gear without a word, and they drove away. John watched, but the man didn’t so much as turn his head to watch them go. He simply walked inside the building and disappeared. It was the only time he ever saw their Bro in the flesh. As the truck approached and then passed him, John couldn't help but notice how few visible scars he had in comparison to the twins. 

****

The week after the party passed in a blur. The following weekend, Karkat reluctantly left for work, and Dirk decided to fuck off to the Lalondes' for a night to give the two of them some time alone to catch up. They piled up on the couch together, drinking too much soda, arguing loudly, and shoving each other to sabotage their Mortal Kombat strategies. Eventually, they got tired of games and collapsed back on opposite ends of the sofa, John giggling as Dave rambled and scrolled through Netflix. Every so often, one would catch the other stealing glances at him, and made ugly faces in response until someone laughed or looked away first.

From the time they met, Dave and John were essentially a package deal. The day John moved to town, they discovered that their class schedules were almost exactly the same, and Dave took it upon himself to fall into the role of one-man welcoming committee. The two of them being who they were, they immediately got in trouble for talking too much. Dave almost got them both detention when he made John laugh so hard during a video their visibly hungover English teacher had put on for the class that he devolved into a coughing fit. At the end of the second week, John invited them both to his house, and the rest was history.

Dirk was slower to warm up, only tagging along to John’s house when he wanted to avoid being alone or with Bro, but John's personality was magnetic, and before long they were an inseparable trio. Parental absence on all fronts led to near constant sleepovers, the three boys either draped across the Egbert couch and living room floor, or curled up in John’s double bed tighter than a litter of kittens in a cardboard box. That went on through most of high school; even when Dirk started making other friends and coming around less, John and Dave were still each other’s buoy in the storm, two peas in a lonely pod.

Dave was mulling this over as John snatched the remote from him and took their quest to find the perfect movie for the evening into his own hands, his tongue stuck out between his teeth. He couldn’t believe John was really there. To remind himself, he kicked his shoulder. 

“Hey!” John laughed, kicking him back. Dave grinned, even though it sort of hurt. _Worth it._

Every day, it sank in a little further that John was actually home. It was sort of surreal. No matter how much Dave insisted that he had moved past his falling out with his best friend, he hadn’t. His therapist, Denise, reassured him that this was normal, that anyone who had been friends for as long as they had and were as close as they were, the wound would be a hard one to heal.

“You know how hard it is to build trust,” she said one afternoon, as Dave sat uncomfortably in the cradle of her office couch. She was a kindly woman, middle-aged, with sweet brown eyes and a puff of curly salt-and-pepper hair that encircled her head like a halo. Fitting, he thought, considering the woman had the patience of a saint. “You went through a lot with him. It only makes sense that you are having trouble with things being the way they are. The unfortunate reality is that these things just take time.”

Dave sighed. He knew she was right. It had taken him months to warm up enough to her to make any real progress in their visits. The first time he found himself sitting in her office, he had just finished his inpatient treatment, and was irritated at the concept of talking to another new person about all his problems when he was just acclimating to the therapist at the center. Denise had worked hard to pull him out of his shell, and she knew better than anyone how hard it was for him. He had made so much progress since their first meeting, yet he still felt so guilty. Guilty for all the things he had done over the years that he might never get a chance to apologize for; for not being respectful of John’s boundaries, or even stopping to consider where they lay. It ate him up inside, but all he could do was hope that one day, the two of them could sit down and talk about it like adults. Maybe then he could at least attempt to fix what he had broken.

He was relieved to discover that where it counted, it was like nothing had changed. John walked back into his life a year later, and it was like he had never left. Once again, he was an almost constant fixture at the Strider apartment. When John wasn’t at work or otherwise occupied, he could be found sitting at their kitchen counter, mediating arguments between the Lalondes and the twins over dinner, or regaling Karkat with embarrassing stories from their childhood until Dave's face was red and he was begging John to stop. He was content to sit and listen while the Striders recorded audio clips and argued over lyrics, stepping in and offering his input when the two of them butted heads. When he eventually did decide to go home to his new apartment across town, he and Dave kept up a constant text chain, just like old times. 

John eventually decided on a movie, predictably something starring Nicolas Cage, but Dave wasn’t paying much attention. He was still watching John out of the corner of his eye, thinking he was being slick until John sighed and turned to him, raising his arm in a gesture for Dave to bring it in. He did immediately, scooting up against him like they had a billion times as kids. 

The two of them had always been comfortable with each other. At home, they were always leaning on each other or within arm’s reach. John was a hugger, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to throw his arms around Dave or take his hand regardless of where or how old they were, which had earned them many a dirty look in Texas. Neither of them cared. In fact, it became sort of a game; _how uncomfortable can we make the crusty old homophobes in this Wendy’s?_ In college, on nights out when alcohol had made them both warm and giggly, they would hang on each other to the point that people often asked if they were a couple. While they sometimes played it up for the attention and the free drinks, both knew with a certainty that there was no chance that would ever be the case. They had kissed exactly once, after a sleepover with John’s cousin Jade. When he admitted to her that he had never kissed anyone before, Jade laughed.

“I’ll kiss you, Dave!” she chirped. 

“I—Seriously?” He sputtered, trying and failing to hide the flustered blush that spread across his cheeks. “Why?”

“Why not?” she asked, scooting closer to him on the floor and wiggling her eyebrows at him teasingly. “There’s gotta be a first time for everything, right?”

“Uh, is that a good idea?” John interrupted when Dave could only make faces like a fish out of water. “Dave, are you okay with that?”

Dave was red all over, his hormone-addled brain still buffering, but he took a deep breath. Better Jade than a total stranger, right? “Yeah, dude. Why not? You don’t want me macking on your cousin? Don’t get all jealous, Egbert.”

“Oh my god, fine. Just get it over with.”

Jade was a sweet girl, but the kiss only raised more questions. He lay awake that night in the bed next to John, listening to Jade snore in the neighboring guest room. He knew John was awake because he wasn’t snoring, too, so he rolled over and poked him in the shoulder. 

“I know you’re faking,” he whispered. “I need to ask you something.”

“What?” John whispered back as he rolled over. He squinted in the dark without his glasses, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges. Dave’s heart raced, his palms clammy.

“I don’t think…I don’t think I like girls. Is that weird?” He said, voice small, half afraid John would freak. Best friends or not, this was the kid that thought "no homo" was the funniest phrase in the English language. What if telling him made it uncomfortable between them? What if he thought it was gross, or worse, didn't want to be his friend anymore? 

He didn’t of course, and just smiled. “Nah, I could’ve told you that, dude. You’ve been pouting after that Michael guy from your math class since what, a year ago?”

“Fuck you,” Dave hissed, and John snickered behind his hand. “I just. How do I know for sure?”

“I dunno,” John replied. “You didn’t like kissing Jade?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t bad, I guess. Just didn’t feel right.”

John nodded pensively. “You could kiss me. For science.”

“Dude.”

“Well, I don’t know either! I mean,” he looked uncomfortable suddenly. “I’ve never kissed anyone either, and it’s not like either of us have many prospects.”

Dave squinted at him, and John squinted back. He sighed. “Fine. For science.”

It was awkward. Teeth-clackingly awkward. When they parted, they stared at each other in the dark for a moment. 

"Um, Dave..."

He gulped, panic spreading through his gut. "What?"

“You taste like Doritos. Did you even brush your teeth? Gross,” John said, laughing. Dave shoved him off the bed.

It didn’t change anything between them. They woke up the next morning sprawled half across each other, ate pancakes that John’s dad made, then went about their business as usual. If anything, it brought them closer; Despite almost a decade of gay jokes and "I am not a homosexual"s, John would come out as bi in college. He gnawed his lip anxiously after the words left his mouth, the same fear Dave had felt all those years prior plain on his face. Dave had picked up on it long before he had said anything, though, and simply replied “No shit, bro.” John grinned, clearly relieved, and Dave bought him another beer to celebrate. A month later, when he started dating a guy from his chemistry lab, Dave sneaked into his apartment to leave the biggest bottle of lube he could find on his pillow in a show of his support, complete with a bright red Christmas bow.

John gave him a squeeze as he nestled into his shoulder. For a while, they sat in amicable silence, Dave making the occasional quip about the movie and John laughing or defending the "cinematic masterpiece" unfolding before them in response. Dave felt something was off, though; John was tense, like he was thinking of saying something. He waited, let him come to him first, even though the silence was making him increasingly anxious. Finally, John took a deep breath. Dave looked up expectantly.

“I think we need to talk about what happened, Dave,” he said.

_There it is._

****

Dave had been out of school for almost a year when John started to notice the changes. He was always either way up or way down, sleeping for ages or bouncing off the walls. They went out a few nights a week, in addition to the Striders’ increasingly frequent gigs, so it was understandable that his sleep schedule was out of whack. What was a more unexpected development was when John started noticing him disappearing with strangers more and more often. Usually, he would tell him before he ran off, leaning in and whispering in his ear “If I’m not back in twenty, come find me,” or flagging him down across the dance floor to point out whoever he was going to be with. John, trying to be respectful, would do his best not to hover or worry. Dave always came back, and always seemed in good spirits. For the most part, he felt it his responsibility to act as Dave’s wing man; if his best bro wanted to experiment, who was he to judge? He would watch his back and make sure everything came out okay, just like he always had.

He only intervened in public once, after Dave had given a thirty-minute warning and had been gone for almost an hour. John didn’t notice immediately, distracted by a very pretty, very flirty girl at the bar, and when he caught a glimpse of the time on her cell phone he quickly excused himself and went looking for him. He found him behind the club they had been partying at, feverishly kissing a stranger that had him pressed up against the dirty bricks. The stranger’s body language set alarm bells off in John’s head; one hand was gripping Dave's wrists above his head, the other planted firmly on the wall, caging him in.

“Hey Dave,” he called, and the two of them broke apart. The guy bolted, and Dave looked dazed as he stumbled and regained his balance, his eyes glassy under the streetlights. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Sorry. He was a little pushy.”

“You should have called me,” John frowned, stepping closer. “I was worried.” 

Dave gave him a wobbly grin.“Lil’ hard to use a phone when there’s a tongue down your throat, Egbert.”

“Gross. C’mon, let’s go get you some water.”

Dave had always balked away from strangers. He was fine socially, his sense of humor and tendency to ramble carrying him well enough in conversations, but being touched set him on edge. Going to work in bars and clubs changed that about him; being in tight quarters, close to so many strangers, he had to adapt, and when the crowds were too much, liquid courage made him brave enough to drift out of his safety net, become more personable. It had all started out as a way to calm his nerves. The problem was, after a while, he didn’t want to go back to feeling anxious. He liked the fuzzy calmness that soothed over him a few drinks in. He wasn’t afraid anymore when girls he had otherwise no intention of humoring slipped him tiny bottles from their purses, the burn of liquor rolling over his tongue and calming his anxiety. It made him feel adequate and whole, fearless in a way that no matter how his Bro had tried, he couldn't be trained to be.

The trip to Miami was a turning point. Dave had been the one to suggest they try something new, and had bought the cocaine from another spring breaker before John had had a chance to question it. 

“Might as well get the full experience, right?” he asked, smirking as he cut two lines on the glass coffee table of their hotel with his room key. John watched uneasily, but took the straw offered to him. No point in missing out on the fun. They were young, and on vacation. What could it hurt?

It had made him jittery and nervous, irritable when he couldn’t sleep, and the crash made him feel worse than any hangover he’d ever had. Swimming in the ocean was the best part of the entire ordeal. They had gone to a party at a bar near their hotel, got bored, and were walking down the beach when Dave suddenly took off at a sprint, leaving footprints in the wet sand. He quickly shucked off his shirt and shorts, laughing as he ran into the waves, and John was soon to follow. He let himself float on his back, the water muffling everything until all he could hear was his own accelerated heartbeat, and a feeling of euphoria rolled over him with the saltwater. It was replaced with a pang of fear when he came up to discover that Dave had swum out way too far for his comfort

"Dave!" He called. When he turned back, his blonde hair dripping, grin glowing in the moonlight, he looked so happy. 

He came back. He always did.

Something told him that this was going to be a problem, but he did his best to push the thought down.

John knew all his tells. He could tell when Dave was in pain, increasingly often as he got older, even when he was too stubborn to admit it. He saw the way his steps hitched when his bad hip locked and tried to dump him unceremoniously on the ground, saw the way he scrunched up his face and curled in on himself when a headache started burrowing its way through his eye sockets. He knew, and he did his best to help, but it wasn’t always that simple. Dave was unraveling more rapidly by the day. It made him sick with worry, watching his face become gaunt, watching him bundle up even in the Houston heat, but he did his best to just smile and keep Dave laughing, keep the pain and the panic at bay. He had to keep it together for them both. 

Everything he knew indicated that recreational drugs, so long as they were done safely, were nothing to worry about. Dave had support. He had friends. They all looked out for each other. And besides, a lot of the time, it was about pain management, about anxiety. That had to make it okay, right? He was just going through a hard time, a downswing. He always came back up.

John had always been fiercely protective of his friends. In the end, he was forced to realize that no matter how much he loved them, he couldn’t always be the one to save them. 

****

_I think we need to talk about what happened._ Dave paused, nodded. He had known this was coming, knew that they would have to eventually, but he couldn’t stand the way his stomach curdled at the thought. He braced himself for it, curling up a little tighter under the blanket. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You wanna lead then?”

John nodded, but the silence lapsed over them again as Nic Cage overacted in the background. Dave felt John’s grip around his shoulders tighten a little.

“Do you remember what happened last time I went to see my Nanna?” John asked. 

He did, though not with incredible detail. Sometime during their first year of college, John had gotten a call in the middle of the night from one of his cousins that their grandma had fallen badly, hitting her head, and was in the hospital. He had been sleeping off a night of drinking, and when Dave staggered out into the room to see what was going on, still drunk himself, he found John crying with his head in his hands. Dirk appeared from his own room soon after, and they stayed with him until he sobered up enough to leave the apartment. Then, as soon as he could get one booked, John was on a plane back to Washington for an indefinite amount of time, and Dave didn’t know what to do without him.

He was lonely, and Dirk was busy, so he had spent most of the time in a haze. John called to check in a week into his trip, and he missed it because he was passed out face down on the rug in his room with an empty bottle of rum and his dead laptop by his side. When he didn’t answer, Dirk got a panicked call from John, worried about his well-being. He woke to Dirk yelling at him for scaring John further when he was already stressed, which led to a heated argument. Dave left as soon as he could get his shoes on. He tried calling friends, looking for someone to let him come crash for the night, but no one answered. He had class the next morning, but with nowhere to go, he went to his favorite bar instead and convinced people to buy him drinks. He only vaguely remembered them, no clear faces, just hands and lips on his body that he couldn’t recall asking for, gone again without a word as the bar closed and the remaining patrons trickled into the street.

The desired effect was achieved; he wanted to drift away, and drift he did, floating out to sea on the waves of alternating stimulants and depressants. Up, down. Up, down. 

He didn’t go home after; instead, he went to John’s apartment, using his spare key to let himself in, and slept in his clothes on his best friend’s bed. The familiarity helped as much as it made his chest ache; his mattress still had the same ghost patterned sheets as he had had when they were kids. He dreamed of sparring on the rooftop, of learning how to do sutures with shaky hands, of blood and fire and dead crows. Without John by his side, he felt to small, so vulnerable. It was easy to collapse in on himself without his boisterous laughter floating him up out of the depths of his self-loathing. 

He blew Dirk and school off for a week, couch surfing or crashing at John’s until he got tired of it and went home. Dirk avoided him in return, as was par for the course in their passive aggressive cycle. After a fight like that, they would usually take their sweet time before one extended an olive branch to the other. 

When John got off his flight home, he came straight to the Striders' place. Dave was alone and already delving into the liquor cabinet. John made a face at him he couldn’t discern, his teeth worrying his lower lip, but he accepted the Jack and Coke he was offered, and that was that. They fell back into their normal routine, smoking a bowl together in the glow of the television. John cried about his grandma for a while, they hugged it out, but Dave’s behavior wasn’t mentioned. Glossed over, as always, by more pressing issues.

“I remember,” Dave replied eventually. “Why?”

“I think…” John sighed. “I think that was the first time I knew you really had a problem. And I’ve wondered ever since if I had said something back then, if it would have changed anything.”

Dave leaned back just enough to see John’s face and found exactly what he was hoping he wouldn’t see there; John had guilt written in every inch of his expression, and tears in his eyes to boot. He was reminded of Karkat, talking about his mother that night at dinner with his dad. _“Maybe if I had said something…_ His stomach sank.

“John,” he said, reaching up to wipe the tears off his cheeks with the hem of the blanket as they bubbled over. “John. Dude. Nothing that happened was your fault. It was all me, you did all you could and I just kept fucking up.”

“But I left you,” he bit the words out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His lip quivered in a way that made Dave want to burst into tears, too. “I left, that’s just as bad. What kind of friend does that? And just a couple weeks later you almost fucking died. Dirk told me everything. He told me how bad you looked when he found you—”

“John,” he said again. “Please. Stop.”

He didn’t stop. “I see it every fucking time I look at you now, Dave. I think about how close I came to losing you. We’ve always been so close, y'know? Maybe too close. I thought we were relying on each other too much, and then I could see it coming, and I was afraid of how hard it would be to see you struggle. I was just a fucking coward.”

“I was really off the rails,” Dave muttered. “You weren’t wrong to want to leave.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. I should have stayed. That’s what friends do, right? Even when it’s hard. They stick around,” He sniffled and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“I know you feel like it is, but it’s not your responsibility to keep my stupid ass out of trouble.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No, no buts. I’m an adult, dude. You can’t hold yourself accountable for my dumb shit.”

John nodded, his eyes far away as he let those words sink in. “The whole time you were in rehab, I was convinced every time Dirk called me it would be to tell me we had to make funeral arrangements.”

Dave thought about the way he said “we.” “We,” not “he,” because it would never just be Dirk. John would never leave him alone with that. The thought made his throat tighten with affection and fear at once. He grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“At the rate things were going, nothing you could have said or done would have pulled me out of it. That sucks, but it’s true. I was in too deep, and I never would have gotten better if something like this hadn’t happened to scare the shit out of me,” he had to stop to take a deep breath, collect himself again. _Don’t you dare cry, Strider. Keep your shit together._ “I’m doing better now than I probably ever was.”

John nodded. “I know. Fuck, I know. It’s just. I feel so guilty. I wish I could take it back. I was going to come back, I really was, but then you got hurt, and I just felt like I couldn’t just show up after that. It felt like my fault.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“You did more than enough for me before all this shit happened, and I took it for granted,” Dave said. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a handful of takeout napkins to hand to John. He accepted them gratefully and blew his nose. Dave decided against his gut instinct to tease him about how pitiful he looked. “You don’t even know the sheer amount of times you’ve pulled my dumb ass out of something dangerous.”

“I mean, I do, kinda.”

“No, really, John. I’m like a particularly feisty toddler trying to stick forks in every light socket in the house. A surprisingly agile little bastard too, like, seriously, how does he even keep getting himself into this shit? Why is he slippery, how did he grease himself up? Wow, plus three speed on his toddler stat—"

“Dave, oh my god, shut _up_ ,” John laughed, shoving him away. Dave smiled.

“Bet you’re wishing I died now, huh?”

“Not funny!”

“Bullshit. C’mon, who would I be if I didn’t deal with my trauma by making inappropriate jokes about it? Humor me.”

“Okay, it’s a little funny,” he snorted and readjusted his glasses. “I’m still sorry.”

“My point is, it happened, and we can’t do anything to change it,” Dave went on. “My therapist keeps telling me that to get over your past, even if you don’t forgive the people that fucked you up, you’re never going to be better unless you forgive yourself. And seriously, if I can forgive myself for all the shit I did, I think you can forgive yourself. You don’t have to forgive me, I would understand if you didn’t, but I'm the one that should apologize. I'm so sorry, John. I was a fucking shit friend, dude, but you were the best. You still are.”

“You weren’t all bad,” John gave him a watery smile, then pulled him in for a tight hug. Dave squeezed him as hard as he could muster, fighting back tears as he did. “I missed you, you ass.”

“I missed you too. Not that you need me to tell you that, I mean, you’re the one with the full voicemail box. You uh,” Dave frowned into his shoulder. “You didn’t listen to those did you?”

“Only a few,” John admitted.

“God, that’s embarrassing,” Dave rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as they parted. “You should delete those.”

“For sure. Wanna do it together?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

It was a start. They both knew that while this was the first discussion, it would be far from the last time they would sit down and talk about their rocky past. Emotionally exhausted enough for one night, they returned to sleepover mode as smoothly as possible. When Dirk came home around midnight, he found the two of them in the kitchen, Dave perched on the countertop as John stirred a pot of something boiling on the stove. Neither seemed to notice him at first; Dave was playing music on a Bluetooth speaker with his back to the door, rapping nonsense as John laughed and offered the occasional critique or commentary. Dirk smiled and tossed his keys into the dish. The sound made John look up, and he grinned. 

“Hey!” he called. 

“Hi,” Dirk replied as Dave turned to face him. They shared a little wave. “What are you guys doing?”

“It’s hotdog o’clock, bro,” Dave replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You want in on this?”

“When the fuck have I ever turned down hotdog o’clock?”

“Only once, and you regretted it,” John beamed at him. "How many do you want?”

He contemplated the question. Despite eating dinner with the Lalondes, he was already pretty hungry again. “Fuck, I dunno, like three?”

“Weak.”

Dirk hopped up on the counter beside his brother and wrestled him for control of the playlist. John kept talking, but Dirk wasn’t listening; he was too busy watching the two of them, only half in the moment as he tried to remember the last time the three of them had been so carefree together. _Middle school? Maybe? God, that was so long ago._ As he was in his daze, Dave threw an arm around his neck, prompting him back to reality with a hug. They smiled at each other as they parted. 

“Did y’all have fun?” Dirk asked.

“As much fun as you can have when John makes you watch _Ghost Rider_ for the millionth time.”

“Hey!”

The twins laughed, and John, though he had done his best to look offended, couldn't help but grin back. It was good to see them happy again. He felt his chest swell with pride at how far they all had come, how they had prevailed against the odds. It brought a tear to his eye, and he turned away to pull himself together.

Just as he did, the front door opened again, and Karkat burst in, dramatic as always. "Dave, why the hell does it smell like hotdog water and putrid ass in here?"

He joined them in the kitchen, leaning back on the counter between Dave's spread knees as he complained about his night at work. Dave smiled to himself as he ran his fingers through Karkat's curls, scritching his nails soothingly against his scalp. From where he was sitting, Dirk to his left, Karkat nestled against his chest, John flitting around the kitchen in the periphery, he couldn't help but feel victorious. It was terrifying at first, being so open. It was hard, and he struggled every day, but now he was seeing results. Now, he was happier than he could ever remember being, and where things once had been so broken, he felt whole.

_Denise is gonna be so fuckin' proud of me when she hears about this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the boys are healingggggg
> 
> thank u again for reading!! please kudos and comment, it gives me life


	7. Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_[Terrified of what I'd be  
>  As a kid, from what I've seen  
>  Every single day, when people try and  
>  Put the pieces back  
>  Together just to smash them down  
>  Turn my headphones up, real loud  
>  I don't think I need them, now  
>  'Cause you stop the noise  
>    
>  And if you stay, I would even wait all night  
>  Or until my heart explodes, how long until we  
>  Find our way in the dark and out of harm?  
>  You can run away with me anytime you want](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljsDNwN9S6E) _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was super satisfying to write tbh. probably why it took me so long to finish, lol. i hope you all enjoy!! comments and kudos are always appreciated. kisses!!

**_Chapter Seven_ **

“Honestly, Egbert, how do you watch this garbage?” 

Karkat’s whine cut through the unconvincing laugh track bubbling out of the TV’s speakers. He and Dave were on the floor in front of the Striders’ sofa, Karkat draped dramatically across Dave’s lap like Manet’s _Olympia_ in grubby sweatpants. With one hand, Dave doodled in a notebook laid out on the coffee table, and with the other, he was feeding his dear partner Sour Skittles between complaints.

John sighed, looking down on them both from where he was kicked back on the couch cushions. “Karkat, when I asked you what you wanted to watch, you said _Ninety Day Fiancee_. How are you really going to look at me and tell me this is worse? Besides, _Full House_ is a classic, who doesn’t love Bob Saget?? He’s like, America’s dad!”

Both Karkat and Dave raised their hands. “Bob Saget sucks, dude,” Dave said, shrugging innocently. John threw a piece of popcorn at him in a huff. Dave returned fire with a Skittle, which John tried to catch in his mouth. Surprising no one, he missed, and it tumbled down into the couch, never to be seen again. 

As Dave had expected, John and Karkat got along from the jump. There was an adjustment period of course; they argued, of course, because that was just how Karkat did things, but John rolled with the punches. At the end of the day, their interests were so similar that they always found common ground, usually somehow involving Matthew McConaughey. After a week, the two of them acted like they had known each other forever, which was a good thing considering how crowded the Strider apartment was with double the usual occupants. 

Their squabble was broken up by Dirk coming back into the apartment as if on cue, arms laden with grocery bags. John sat up to greet him brightly as he kicked the door shut behind himself. His grin quickly faded again, however, as Dirk took one look at the TV and made a face of blatant disdain.

“Duuuude,” John whined. “come on, don’t try and act all cool in front of these two jackasses. You’ve never complained before!”

“Yeah, that mostly has to do with the fact that despite my best efforts, I just can’t resist John Stamos,” Dirk replied, beginning the ordeal of putting the groceries away. “It’s the hair, I think. Come help me with this, will you?” 

“I shouldn’t have to put up with this on my birthday,” John sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked.

“How often do you two watch this?” Karkat asked indignantly as John rolled and hopped up off the couch. “Do you just sit out here braiding each other’s hair and writing ‘Dirk Strider-Stamos’ in glitter glue on your fucking vision board? Like a couple of middle schoolers?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” John shrugged. “You guys should try it sometime.”

"My hair's not long enough to braid yet," Dirk said, looking wistfully at the TV screen. "Hey, Dave, should I grow a mullet?"

"Ooh, I'll grow one too!" John exclaimed.

"So you really just come out here and slumber party it up without us?" Karkat grumbled. “That’s appalling, and you should know that it is.”

Dave stuck his tongue out in mock disgust as John gave his brother a peck and Dirk, upon seeing this, responded by grabbing John and dipping him dramatically like a dancer. John squawked, not prepared, but recovered quickly and played up the part of the swooning damsel. Both of them were really leaning harder into gross public display of affection territory for the sake of their audience. Dave threw a skittle at them, which pinged uselessly off the refrigerator door. 

“Dirk Strider, you better leave room for the lord over there or so help me.”

“I’m sorry, how long have we had to watch you two slobbering all over each other now?” Dirk replied as they righted themselves. John gave Dave a mischievous grin and waggled his eyebrows as he set about helping Dirk with the kitchen. 

“He has a point,” Karkat agreed, rolling over and getting to his feet. He stretched and yawned, smacking Dave’s hand away when he tried to reach up and tickle his exposed, fuzzy midriff. “You do have a tendency to slobber all over me.”

Dave pouted. “I’ve never heard you complain.”

“Not the point,” Karkat hummed. He held out his hands for Dave to pull himself out of the floor too. “I gotta go shower before work, you coming? I can’t face Beth with all this festering Strider funk clinging to me. I think I’m starting to get visible stink lines.”

“Gonna ignore that rude and unwarranted comment on my sumptuous aroma in favor of getting a sneak peak at that ass.”

“Nasty!” John shouted from the kitchen. Due to a lack of more projectiles to throw, Dave settled for making a crude gesture at him as he followed Karkat down the hall to the bathroom.

Despite Dirk’s pleading with Karkat to keep his relationship with John a secret until the time was right, Dave had found out on his own quickly. The Striders fancied themselves masters of stoicism and secrecy, but John was more or less an open book, and Dave was very good at reading his best friend. When he wouldn’t budge, Dave started asking Karkat if he noticed anything weird about them about a week in. To his credit, Karkat remained tight-lipped. The kicker had been when Dave woke up in the middle of the night to pee and discovered the bathroom door locked. He knocked. 

“Dirk?”

Dirk’s voice came back surprised and higher pitched than normal. “What?”

“I gotta piss, dude, hurry up.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay. Go away, I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Bro no just come out, I gotta go.”

“I’ll come out if you go away.”

“That’s fucking stupid, I’m gonna destroy the carpet and you’re gonna pay the cleaning fee. You know our landlord is a fucking chode, dude, we’ll never get the deposit—"

“Dave.”

“What?”

“Please do me this one solid and go back to your room for like, two seconds.”

“Did you forget your towel or something? Just run, I’ll cover my eyes.”

“No!”

“Bro I’m not gonna look.” 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you know what? Fine. I warned you,” and he opened the door. Dave immediately tried to push past him and ran right into John. 

“John? What the—Oh,” He stepped back, looked at his brother’s stone-faced expression. Try as he might to keep his cool, Dirk couldn’t stop the redness that rose in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. John grinned sheepishly at him. Both had wet hair and towels tied around their waists. 

“OH. Oh my god?? Oh my god.”

“Piss first, spiral later,” Dirk snapped. He dragged John by the arm down the hall to his own room and shut the door. 

Spiral he did, but only briefly. He returned to his room and immediately woke Karkat, who complained because in his rush to get back, Dave had washed his hands, but had not dried them. 

“For the love of all that is holy, Strider, why the fuck are you wet? That’s absolutely fucking _vomitous_ ,” he moaned, smacking at Dave’s hands. 

“Dirk and John fuck,” He hiss-whispered. Karkat groaned and sat up. 

“I’m not getting back to sleep tonight, am I?”

“They were in the shower. Together, dude. My brother is fucking my best friend. Holy shit? Holy shit.”

Karkat rubbed his eyes. “Yep. Not getting any more sleep. Can I go make coffee?”

“It’s like four a.m.” 

“I love you, but I really need caffeine to keep up with you like this.”

A pot of coffee later, Dave and Karkat were sitting in the kitchen together. Despite his natural impulse to ramble forever and a day, Dave was quiet as he sipped. He stared at the counter with his eyebrows knitted together in a look of confusion and concentration, like he was trying to parse a difficult equation. Karkat waved a hand in front of his face.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the table if you keep staring that hard, dumbass. I know it’s weird, but it’s not that bad, right?” Karkat asked.

“I guess not,” Dave mumbled. “Just. How long has this been going on? Like, John is _always_ here.”

Karkat sighed and rested a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He clearly felt like he was out of the loop, and who could blame him? “Well. Dirk asked me not to say anything, but I did know,” Dave’s head snapped up, but Karkat stopped him before he could speak. “He didn’t tell me either. I figured it out. He said he was worried it’d freak you out, so he wanted some time. It’s only been going on a few months.”

Dave opened his mouth to reply, but down the hall, there was the soft sound of a door opening. Dirk appeared once again with John in tow. Dave tried to ignore the fact that John was wearing one of Dirk’s sleep shirts.

“I think we have some explaining to do,” John laughed awkwardly. Dirk, who had already made his way over to the coffee pot, reappeared with a mug for John and himself. John accepted it and sat down at the counter beside Dave. “If you want? I mean, we could totally just pretend like nothing ever happened. But I would like to stop pretending like I have to sleep on the couch when I come over, heh.”

Dave stared at him; mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes squinted in the half-dark like he was suspicious. Then he sighed. “I guess so.”

Karkat wasn’t exactly sure what was said. It felt wrong to sit in on a personal conversation like that, so he excused himself back to Dave’s room. Even with the caffeine, he only lasted about a half hour poking around with a coding project and chatting with Sollux before he fell asleep again, his laptop open on Dave’s side of the bed beside him. Eventually, he stirred again when Dave came back, though he had tried his best to be quiet while he moved the laptop and crawled back under the covers. Karkat blinked awake and curled closer to him. 

“Y’okay?” He mumbled. 

Dave nodded and kissed him on top of his head. Through the cracked blinds, Karkat could see the sun was coming up. “It’s okay.”

“You gonna be fuckin’ weird about it tomorrow?”

“Probably,” Dave smirked. “Name one thing I haven’t been weird about in the entire time I’ve been alive.”

Karkat hummed and tucked his head under Dave’s chin, already dozing off. As expected, the next day Dave was a little stiff and tight-lipped when the two of them emerged from the blanket nest around noon. John and Dirk were already on the couch, Dirk typing rapidly on his computer, which sat atop John’s legs where they laid across his lap. They were in their own little world, didn’t even notice Dave and Karkat walk into the kitchen, and as Dave watched he saw the way they were looking at each other. Dirk was smiling as he talked, and when he cracked a joke about whatever they were watching on TV, John snort-laughed, and Dirk looked at him with a fondness Dave almost couldn’t believe his face was capable of. 

He hadn’t seen Dirk that happy in years, if ever, and he decided then not to press the issue any further. Instead, he let the cabinet door slam, startling the both of them, and called out, “You dipshits want breakfast?” After that, it was like nothing was ever amiss.

After stepping out of the shower spray, they argued briefly over the fogged mirror, a battle Dave won by playing dirty and throwing his towel over Karkat’s head as he spat curses. He spun him like a kid about to swing on a pinata, then pushed him gently out of the way. He started to blow-dry his hair as Karkat struggled to disentangle himself from his towel prison. 

That night was a rarity: not only were the twins playing at the club Karkat worked at on one of his rare weekends off, and it just so happened to be the weekend of John's birthday. All four of them would be going together, and both twins were excited about the opportunity to show off in front of their respective partners. 

“I’ve got a couple new mixes in the rotation this week that I think you’ll like,” Dave explained around his toothbrush. “It’s got some of [that good ol’ Warped Tour shit that you love so much](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjyO4Cy-ZBs). It’s gonna be great.” 

Karkat grunted as he rubbed a product that smelled like coconut through his mess of curls. “You say that like you’re not still a fucking emo kid yourself, Strider,” he said, hip-checking Dave away from the sink and grabbing his own toothbrush. Dave scowled and leaned over him to spit and rinse his brush.

“Well, yeah, but where’s the fun in it if I don’t get to mock other emo kids for their shit? You think I didn’t see your scene kid pics in that memory on your Facebook the other night, ‘kat?”

“Holy shit, that’s an invasion of privacy.”

“You posted it, not me, babe.”

“Aradia was the one that shared it! Fuck you,” he grumped, pushing Dave’s face away when he went in for a minty apology kiss. “And you’re the weirdo that started befriending all my friends, the fuck is up with that?”

“What can I say, the ladies love me,” Dave teased. “Besides, ‘Rezi reached out first, y’know. Not my fault all your friends think I’m cooler than you.”

“Sollux doesn’t,” Karkat pointed out.

“Sollux wouldn’t know cool if it shat on his chest. Plus, he’s hated me since I spilled apple juice on his pants in freshman English. Not my fault he held a grudge since before I even knew the guy.”

“Well, he’s kind of a fucking asshole himself,” Karkat shrugged and gave his hair a shake. It was getting a little too long for his liking, he mused. He would have to ask Kanaya to trim it later. “Also in his defense, who the fuck brings an entire liter of apple juice to a college English class?”

“I was fucking thirsty and I skipped breakfast ‘cause I was so hungover I thought I was gonna die. Needed the sugar.”

“Always with the excuses,” Karkat stepped into a clean pair of boxers and headed for the door. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late if we don’t get the truck loaded soon.” For good measure, he threw his wet towel at Dave’s face and laughed at his offended squawk. 

With the money he had saved from doing shows and selling his art online, Dave bought a truck that was nearly identical to the one Dirk had had to sell to help pay for his treatment; a grey 80’s model Chevrolet with a chipping red stripe down the side. It had been sitting in an old man’s back yard for about ten years and was in need of some work. When they brought it home and started it, dead leaves puffed out of the air vents, and some of the wiring had been gnawed through by mice. It was a hell of a deal, though, and Dirk’s mechanical skills meant they could fix it up on the cheap, too. After little more than a month of evenings spent cursing and getting greasy, irritable, and sweaty in the Houston heat, the truck was ready to drive. 

As soon as it was operational, he and John started taking their night drives again, now with the addition of Karkat. The first night was a bit overwhelming for him; he sat in the middle, while Dave and John bickered about the radio until a song came on that they could both agree on. They cranked their windows down and [all but screamed along to the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MHmx9nvHqU) over the rush of the wind. The anxiety was short lived, though, and by the time they had made it through the drive through of the local Taco Bell he was glad to join in himself, juggling a frozen Baja Blast and smacking John’s hands away from the aux cord as he and Dave belted Blink-182 in [the most obnoxious imitations of Mark Hoppus they could muster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1tAYmMjLdY). They drove until the highways narrowed and they no longer passed any other drivers, and as the dark yawned out around them, Dave felt freer than he had in ages. 

The work of loading the truck took no time with the four of them, and before long they were all piled into the cab and driving across town to the club. With Dave driving and Karkat in the middle, Dirk and John were left to play rock-paper-scissors to see who got to choose who sat on whose lap. John won and whooped victoriously, though Dirk didn’t seem to mind having his boyfriend sit on his bony legs. He rested his chin on John’s shoulder contentedly and watched the buildings pass by out the window. The staff entrance to the bar was propped open when they arrived, and Karkat disappeared inside to let the owners know they had made it while the Striders and John set about assembling the stage. 

“Is that the last of it?” John asked as he handed off a bundle of cables to Dirk.

“Seems like it,” Dirk replied. “We’ll take it from here. Beth said you can have whatever you want on our tab, but y’know I can’t just take five to hold your hair back while you puke, so. Keep that in mind.”

“Pfft, like that would even be a problem. Besides, that’s what Karkat’s here for! Right Karkat?”

Karkat, who had just approached them again, scowled. “Egbert, I am aware this is a special day for you, and years of participating in polite society have indicated that I should be nice to you because of it—”

“You participate in polite society?”

“Eat shit. My point is, you could pay off my student loans, like, my dad’s mortgage, _and_ end world hunger, and I still would not help you hold your greasy mop back while you hork the contents of your guts into a bar toilet.”

“Hey, my hair’s not greasy!”

“Okay, children, don’t fight,” Dirk cut them off. “We can’t be takin’ five to keep y’all from killing each other, either. Go have fun, don’t make an ass of yourself. Happy birthday.”

“Sweet! Thanks!” John grinned and kissed Dirk, then disappeared into the growing crowd with Karkat in tow. Together, the twins finished setting up and sound check, and still had fifteen minutes to kill before their set officially started.

“I’m gonna go get a drink. You want anything?” Dirk asked, wiping sweat off his forehead. Even in April, the Texas heat was getting out of hand.

“See if Beth has my juice,” Dave replied, hopping down off the stage. “I gotta take a leak.”

The twins split, and Dave wove through the accumulating crowd towards the bathroom. He saw Karkat out of the corner of his eye, leaned against the booth that John had chosen and talking with him, Sollux, and Aradia. They hadn’t planned to meet up, but Karkat’s best friends were regulars at his workplace, so it was no surprise to see them. Whatever they were discussing, it looked pretty heated, Karkat’s eyebrows knit with irritation as Sollux hunched over the table to talk. This wouldn’t be unusual, but for the genuine concern lining Aradia’s face.

There was someone in the stall when Dave stepped inside, but he only half noticed. His mind was elsewhere, focusing his attention on thinking about the set to come rather than his surroundings. As he finished up and set about washing his hands, he heard the toilet flush, and the stall door opened. He didn’t look up until he heard a familiar voice.

“Well, well. Long time no see, motherfucker.”

His blood turned cold, and his eyes, thankfully hidden behind his shades, snapped up to look in the dirty reflection. There he was, that same son of a bitch from the night of his overdose. The familiarity of the situation was too much; how ironic, he thought, that their posturing would be almost exactly the same. The room’s layout was different, and Dave had a clear shot to the door this time. Still, the panic in his gut was hard to quell, and Dave silently played Rose’s lessons in his head as he took a deep breath. It was almost funny. His lip twitched with the effort to keep it in. 

“Not long enough,” He replied smoothly, moving for the door.

“Aww, come on now, bro, is that any way to greet an old fuckin’ friend? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d forgotten that little gift I so kindly gave you last time we motherfuckin’ met.”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Dave snapped, and the guy grinned. His eyes were disconnected one moment, a thousand-yard stare that Dave felt went right through him. Then suddenly, they focused. His heart rate picked up. _shit._

“Or what?” He said, and Dave could feel his guts liquifying. Flight or fight seized him, and he knew this time, he was not going to go down so easily. He prayed that Dirk would come find him, or Karkat, or that literally anyone would walk through the door. Anything would be better than facing this alone again. But no one was coming. 

“You know, you look different,” he went on. “Clearer. Too clear, my friend. How long’s it been since you felt like you could motherfuckin’ fly?”

Dave faltered. He remembered all that blood on the floor. He stood his ground, but the other man seemed to pick up on his hesitation and he grinned ever wider. His teeth were fucking disgusting, chipped, blackened, and rotting right out of his head. He was stepping closer, his hand reaching into his pocket, and Dave knew what would be waiting for him if he finished that motion. He felt fearful of what he would do if he saw it for the first time in over a year; if he would be able to keep himself together. Bro’s voice whispered in his head, _In the end, all you’ve got is yourself._

Another step, and then, as hard as he could, Dave reared back and punched him in the nose.

His fist connected with the horrible crunch of breaking bone. Dave winced as the man crumpled, yowling. He sprang up again surprisingly fast, trying to grab for Dave, but he ducked aside and hit him again. The second blow dropped him and sent spray of blood across the tiles. 

_Oh, shit._

As he hit the ground again, slurring and cursing incoherently, Dave bolted and ran through the crowd to the back door. He knocked hard into someone, heard swearing and felt the cold splash of a drink spilling on his shirt, but didn’t stop. Dimly, he realized that he might be making a little bit of a scene.

He crashed through the back door into the alley and stopped. He wanted to keep running, but he saw the spot where he and Karkat had sat the night they met, sharing stale cigarettes, and leaned heavily on the bricks there. It was a struggle to catch his breath, arms clenched tight around himself to stop the trembling in his hands. He tried to remember Rose’s instructions, tried to put it out of his mind, but all he could think about was the awful hunger he suddenly felt, the itch digging in at the base of his skull telling him he needed something, anything to _Make it stop make it stop make it STOP--_

A hand touched his shoulder, and he immediately swung an elbow as hard as possible. “Get off me!” 

“Ow! Dave, it’s me, it’s okay! Oh Jesus fuck,” It was John, blue eyes wide with worry as he swore and covered his nose with a hand.

“Oh shit, shit, I’m sorry,” He said, reaching helplessly toward him as he tried to staunch the blood that was now dripping from his nose. Karkat and Dirk followed out the door mere seconds later.

“What the fuck happened?” Dirk asked, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. Dave knew the two of them must look a sight; himself jittery and panicking, John with a busted face. If it weren’t for the adrenaline spiking through his blood, he might laugh at the comical expression on their faces.

“He’s here,” he explained, trying to keep his voice even. “He’s here, in the bathroom, he—the guy, the guy from that night? You know the one, the most infamous fuckup in Dave Strider’s rich history? I hit him and I don’t know if he left but he—he’ll come back, he’ll find me again. Fucking psycho clown.”

Dirk swore under his breath while John reached out to pull Dave into an awkward hug. He glanced up at Karkat, who was standing stock-still, frozen, eyes wide with anger and shock.

“Karkat, what’s wrong?”

“Clown?” he asked, with a strange tenseness in his voice.

Dave nodded, and he did laugh then. “Yeah, he wears fucking clown makeup. Because I can’t get my ass kicked by a normal person, he has to be some kind of fucking weirdo Juggalo mother--” 

Karkat swore under his breath. Dave looked up to see why, but he had already turned on his heel and started stomping back towards the door. He yanked it open and disappeared back into the dim lighting of the club again before anyone could call after him. Dave felt panic clench his stomach again, but before he could follow, Dirk grabbed his arm.

“What are you—”

“Don’t, dude. You need to calm down. He can handle himself,” Dirk said. Despite the urge to protest, Dave saw the fearful look in his brother’s eye and bit his tongue. He relented, and Dirk and John made him sit down on the cracked asphalt and take some deep breaths. As they leaned their backs against the warm bricks of the building, he took inventory of the situation; his knuckles were sore, crusted with blood, and John, sitting beside him, had blood on the neckline of his t-shirt. He apologized profusely, but to his credit, John only laughed.

”Nothing personal,” he said with a shrug. “you were just defending yourself, dude.”

As he was finally getting his heart rate under control again, the back door opened again. His gaze snapped toward the sound, hoping to see Karkat again, but instead Beth stepped outside. She looked as prim and put together as ever, but her eyes indicated that she was furious, and her tattooed arms were crossed over her chest. His stomach sank. 

_Here it comes. She’s going to fire me._

“Dave,” she spoke quietly, kneeling in the street beside him. “Are you alright?”

“Beth, I’m so sorry,” He blurted. “I’m so sorry, I fucked up, I know you’ve got a business to run and we’re your entertainment and I know we’re super late—”

“Dave,” she raised a hand, indicating for him to stop talking. He did. “That wasn’t what I asked. I asked if you’re alright?”

Stunned, he nodded. Beth smiled. 

“Everything’s okay, boys,” She said, half to Dirk. “The cops came and got that guy, but Karkat did a number on him before they did. I gotta say, I was surprised. That kid can pack a punch when he’s pissed.”

Dave felt guilt wash over him. _Oh god, I got Karkat in trouble, too._ “You’re not gonna fire him, are you? Where is he?”

Beth laughed. “No, honey, I’m not. As far as I’m concerned, he’s off the clock, so I don’t have anything to worry about. He’s just inside, giving a statement. Listen,” she reached out delicately and held Dave’s hand. “Y'all go home. We’re gonna set up karaoke. You’ll still get paid, and we’d like to ask you back next weekend as well, if y’all can fit us in.”

Dave was numb with shock, but that woke him up. “What? No, I don’t—We can still play.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know, Dave, I think that’s—”

“No, Beth, please,” he squeezed her hand. “I want to do this. I don’t want to just give the fuck up. I’ll feel better. Please.”

She didn’t look convinced, but Dirk spoke up. “He’s probably right, y’know. If we leave he'll just be all keyed up all night. Think of the family, Beth. I share a house with the guy.”

She gave them both a long, searching look, then sighed. “Alright, fine. If you can be on in ten, you can play.” 

“Deal.”

As Beth disappeared back into the bar, Dirk and John got him to his feet and guided him inside. Dave was distracted, eyes searching for Karkat through the crowd. No one seemed especially concerned or upset about what had just happened, even with the lazy flash of the police car’s lights through the windows. Dave spotted him by the front door, his back turned, broad shoulders tense as he talked to a bored looking officer. The sight of him made Dave’s anxiety ebb a bit, and he took another deep breath.

“Are you ready?” Dirk asked him, settling his own headphones over his ears. 

He gave a thumbs up in reply. “Ready.”

The rest of the night was a blur, but Dave did feel better. His hands felt at home rested on the vinyl, and his voice never wavered as he sang or rapped along to the beat. He caught Dirk glancing over at him frequently, but he was sure on his feet, and they orbited around each other naturally, like clockwork. As the music reached its crescendo, he felt like himself again, and he caught sight of his own face in the reflection of one of their screens, grinning wickedly, sweat dripping from his hair. The entire event was out of his head, replaced by the rapid tempo and the grooves under his fingertips, until the song ended. When they said their goodbyes and took the headphones off, Dave looked up, and his eyes immediately sought Karkat. Sollux was standing close to him, and they looked to be in the middle of an intense conversation yet again, but Karkat was already smiling at him fondly from his post along the far wall. Dave grinned back.

With the set over, the crowd chattering and moving toward the exits or back to the bar for last call, Dave had lost all the adrenaline rush that was carrying him. He took the first step off the stage and staggered, nearly falling on his face. Luckily, John was already there, and caught him before he could eat shit on the hard concrete. He and Dirk herded him for the stage door. Weakly, Dave tried to argue with them, insisting he could pull his weight and help, but Dirk wouldn’t have it. 

“This is stupid, bro, I’ve loaded that truck up far more fucked up than this.”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask,” Dirk said flatly. “We’ve got enough hands. Sit your ass down before you fall down.”

He made him get in the passenger seat and shut the door before Dave could protest further. Sure enough, when he was alone, he crumpled like an old suit. His body was running on fumes, and with the darkness of the night laying heavily over the back entrance of the bar, he laid his head against the cool glass of the window, exhausted. 

Just when he thought he might fall asleep, there was a tap on his window. Dave nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up as Karkat was already throwing the truck door open, pulling him so close his ribs felt like they might crack, but he didn’t care. He was there, real and solid, and that was all that mattered. He squeezed him back tightly.

“You okay?” Karkat asked, pulling back to push Dave’s sweaty hair away from his face. That anger was still in his eyes, but mostly, he just looked afraid, concerned. Dave nodded wordlessly as his eyes were drawn behind Karkat, where Sollux and Aradia stood, the former looking even more awkward than usual with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“What are y’all doing here?” Dave asked.

“We wanted to make sure you were alright,” Aradia said with a smile. Her usually cheerful demeanor seemed forced.

“Oh,” he replied, shooting a confused glance at Sollux, who avoided his gaze. Nothing new there, really, but something was different. He shuffled his feet and made eye contact with his shoes. It seemed like he was deliberately avoiding looking at them both. “Uh, yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” 

Aradia’s gaze was starting to become intense. Dave shifted uneasily. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Well, uh, we should go,” Sollux took her arm. “If you guys need anything—”

“Yeah,” Karkat cut him off with a nod. “I’ll call you later.”

As they turned and disappeared off down the darkened alley, arm in arm, they seemed to be talking tensely to each other again. Dave made a mental note to ask about the strange interaction later. Presently, there were other problems; namely, that Karkat had turned his attention to where Dirk and John were loading their equipment back into the truck, and seemed like he was going to get out and join them. As he turned his head, Dave grabbed his arm.

“Don’t go,” he asked, trying not to sound quite as panicked as he felt. 

“Okay, I won’t,” Karkat climbed into the truck. He expected deflection, for Karkat to ask about the show or some particular mix he’d liked rather than mention the fight, but for a long time, he was just quiet. Tense, like he was trying to work the nerve up to say something. Dave decided he would be the one to do the talking, leaning against Karkat’s shoulder. 

”I think that went about as well as it coulda, right?” He said. “I mean, I’ve definitely done shows under more dire circumstances. One time, this girl in my British lit class brought an entire bottle of Jameson in a thermos in her backpack. I saw her pouring some into her coffee mug, she offered me some, then one thing led to another and we became bffs for a day. I was hanging out with her and her sorority sisters when I realized it was Friday during rush week and Dirk and I had a show, and I was so drunk I could barely stand up by the time he picked me up. That was an interesting performance. Prayed to a lot of different porcelain gods that night. Those girls gave me a hell of a manicure though, gotta give ‘em props—”

“Dave,” He began, ending his ramble. Dave waited patiently. “Did you know who that guy was?”

_Okay, I guess we’re getting into this now._ Dave shook his head, then laughed awkwardly. “Sure. As much as you can know a guy who kicks the shit out of you for stealing his drugs, I guess.”

“Fuck,” Karkat hissed. 

_Okay, that wasn’t funny._ Dave grimaced. _Smooth, Strider._

The night they met, Karkat had joked that he got to “take his rage out on the assholes sometimes,” and Dave had almost been worried about it. The more he got to know him, though, he learned that he wasn’t much for physically fighting. He much preferred to shit-talk the belligerent douchebags that he often had to escort out of the bar, and really got good at coming up creative insults. He lived for the confusion plastered to the faces of the many a drunken, disorderly frat boy while he shouted them down David and Goliath style, calling them things like “you vacuous idiotic douchewhiff” or “unattractive taintchafing footfuckers.”

Only once had Dave ever known him to get physical with someone. There was an older guy at his bar one night who got caught leading a stumbling young man out of the bar. The kid, it turned out, had gotten in with a fake ID, then turned his back for a second too long, and the guy had slipped something in his drink and managed to get him away from his friends. Karkat was shaken when he recounted the story to Dave over the phone, both with rage at the fact that it happened and by not being able to stop himself after the guy threw the initiating punch. He had blacked out, only realizing what happened as his coworkers were dragging him away. Under the dim lighting, he could see blood all down the front of the guy’s shirt, one of his eyes already swelling shut. He screamed obscenities at Karkat until the other bouncers hauled him out of the building. 

"Was the kid okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. He was fine. His friends weren't far away, and they got him home. I just..." 

“Do you regret it?” Dave asked him as he trailed off. There was silence on the line.

“No,” he finally admitted. “No, and I’m a little afraid of that.”

Dave was reminded of that now, watching him space out, clearly trying to calm a rage that still burnt hot in his chest. Sometimes it was easy to forget how soft Karkat’s heart was. That incident was in defense of a complete stranger. Dave could only imagine how hard he was taking it now that it was someone so close to him that he was defending from danger. His eyes were unfocused, brows pulled close together as he worried his lip with his teeth.

“Hey,” Dave tried to tip Karkat’s face up to his, but he still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” Karkat nodded. “I know. I just…”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“He did once,” Karkat snapped. “That’s more than enough.”

Dave sighed and took Karkat’s hands. His knuckles were busted, bruises blooming on his skin. Though he tried to stop it, his hands were shaking worse than Dave’s were. “Beth told me you fucked him up,” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He scoffed. “I needed to do it more than you know.” 

John opened the driver’s door of the truck then, effectively ending their conversation. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Karkat replied too quickly. “Fine.” 

John didn’t look convinced as he climbed into the cab. Dirk was right behind him with the keys. The four of them sat in silence for a moment after he shut the door and started the engine, Dirk staring straight ahead. His jaw was clenched, his face covered with a light sheen of sweat. In the dark, Dave was caught off guard by how much he looked like Bro. 

“Hey,” he said, reaching over John to touch his brother’s shoulder. Dirk didn’t move. “You okay?”

Dirk nodded. “Just tired.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

****

Later, when they were finally alone again, Karkat told him a story.

“So, when I was a kid,” he began hesitantly. For once, his raspy voice was so hushed, Dave could barely hear it over the clicking of the fan. “We lived in an apartment complex. Dad was working a lot, and Mom worked nights, so a lot of the time, my parents had the neighbor, Mr. Makara, babysit us. He was a single dad with two kids, roughly mine and Kankri’s ages, so it worked out. The one my age was named Gamzee.”

Dave watched the way his face changed as he said that name. He paused, teeth gritted, staring straight at the ceiling with an intensity that could probably burn holes through the plaster if he focused long enough. Dave nuzzled into the curve of his neck and waited for him to continue, resting one hand on his bare chest so he could feel the soft thud of his pulse against his ribs. It took him a while before he sighed and went on.

“When we were little, we were really close. For a long time, he and Sollux were my only friends. We were the fucking outcast loser squad, y’know?”

“You and Sollux are still like that.”

“Fuck you.”

“I bet that would look cool embroidered on a denim jacket.”

Karkat sneered at him, but rolled his eyes and kept talking. “All through elementary and middle we were tight, then halfway through high school, he started coming around less and less. We didn’t ask what he was up to, really. Plus, when we were old enough to fend for ourselves, his dad kind of fucked off, so he just did whatever he wanted with no one to tell him otherwise. I still saw him in the hall sometimes, but he was acting different. Sometimes he was very friendly and chill, but sometimes he would be aggressive and weird. Once, he caught me on a bad day, I flew all the way off the handle on him in front of the entire cafeteria. It wasn’t pretty. I think someone recorded it and put it on youtube? Embarrassing as shit. 

“Anyway. After that, he left me alone, but when we went to prom senior year, he was there, and he was handsy as all fuck, definitely high as a kite. He cornered me, and I am not about that shit, so I kicked him in the dick and bailed. Me and Sollux had a better time getting Burger King and watching Spaceballs anyway.”

“Romantic.”

“Yes, it was just about the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Allowing me to escape an uncomfortable social situation, chicken fries, and fine cinema? I love you, but Sollux Captor truly knows how to treat a man.”

“I’m takin’ notes, I promise.”

“Good. So, yeah, I tried not to let it get to me, but I was always kind of afraid of where he was going to end up after that. I still cared, you know? He didn’t come to graduation. I never saw him again, but I heard rumors all the time. Absolutely batshit weird stuff. And then one night, last year, he calls me out of the blue. I knew I should have changed my number, right? I thought blocking his number would be enough, but no. I knew it was him before he even said a word, because I could hear his obnoxious fucking mouth breathing on the line. I humored him just long enough for him to throw me bodily off the cliff into blind rage with his horseshit, trying to reminisce and call me his ‘best fucking friend’ like he didn’t try to assault me the last time I saw him and then go completely off the grid without so much as an apology. I really don’t know exactly what I said, but I did tell him to get help before I hung up on him. Thought that I had washed my hands of it. And it felt pretty good, mostly. A little guilty, a little like I could have helped him, but he had pushed me too far too many times. So I felt good, till later that week, when I heard that he got thrown out of a bar for nearly killing somebody not two hours after I hung up the phone and was hiding from the cops. Then I just felt guilty.”

Dave listened quietly, and when Karkat finally stopped talking, he pushed his bangs back from his face and kissed his forehead. Karkat still wouldn’t look at him, his features twisted into a grimace. 

“He sounds like a piece of work. Is that why you went off on that guy last night?” Dave prompted.

Karkat didn’t open his eyes. “Dave. He _was_ that guy. The night he called me was the night you…fuck. _Fuck_. My childhood friend almost fucking killed you.”

The realization took a moment to process, and Dave felt his stomach tie itself into a complicated knot, like a particularly dexterous boy scout was practicing on his entrails. Karkat noticed his hands stop carding through his curls and finally looked up, the most pitiful look on his face. Dave knew he should say something, but he was too stunned. What the entire fuck were the odds? This wasn’t the first time they had had a coincidence like this; Dave and Sollux had had classes together in college, and Karkat and Kanaya had realized that they vaguely knew each other through Kanaya’s older sister Porrim, who had been friends with Kankri in school. They had only lived across town from each other their whole lives, so it wasn’t totally outlandish for them to have crossed paths in one way or another. But this one was unsettling.

“You were friends with a Juggalo? That’s pretty fucking lame, ‘kat,” he said with a nervous laugh.

It was a half-assed attempt at distraction, but it worked. Karkat’s face twisted, and even though he had tears in his eyes, he laughed too. “I love you so much, asshole.”

“ I love you too,” he shook his head. “Can we please drop it?”

“Yeah,” Karkat tried to smile. Dave knew him well enough that he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it for a while, but that was okay. “Yeah. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking at the way his bruised knuckles matched Karkat’s when they intwined their fingers. “Me too.”

They lay together in the darkness, listening to each other's soft inhalations and exhales. Dave rested his head on Karkat's chest, their fingers still laced, and listened to his heartbeat. He didn't realize he was fidgeting until Karkat spoke up.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

"You obviously have something else you want to say. Let's hear it."

Busted. He held his breath, trying to make out Karkat’s facial features in the dark; the curve of his nose, his lips, his chin, and Dave let his eyes trace them as he weighed what to say. Eventually, he sighed.

“We gotta get the fuck outta Texas, 'kat.”

There was a long pause, and he wondered if he should have just kept that in. Maybe Karkat didn't want to leave. He opened his mouth to speak, to backtrack and say he was just being dramatic, but then, Karkat laughed. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love a good "dave kicks the shit out of gamzee for hurting karkat" fic but honestly, karkat deserves to get a couple hits in
> 
> thank you all for reading!


	8. You Are a Tourist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  _  
>  [ And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born  
>  Then it's time to go  
>  And define your destination  
>  There's so many different places to call home  
>  Because when you find yourself the villain in the story you have written  
>  It's plain to see  
>  That sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemptions  
>  Would you agree?  
>  If so, please show me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkk5wViJo-I)   
>  _   
>  **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do you do, fellow kids
> 
> happy new year! i thought it had only been like a month and a half since i updated this. it was october. oops! i have the next few chapters almost fully written, just in need of editing. my updating schedule will still be ass, but i will be finishing this. believe it. look, we even have a final chapter count now! amazing. 
> 
> also, because i wasn't already linking enough of the music ive listened to while writing this, i did some reformatting and gave every chapter its own song. because like responsible adults do i spend my days curating my davekat playlist. and weeping. the chapters are now titled after the songs, as well. 
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy!

**_Chapter Eight_ **

Moving to a bigger place quickly became a common topic of conversation, discussed heatedly over dinners and movie nights in a living room at max capacity. Four people sharing one bathroom was cruel and unusual punishment, according to Karkat, and eventually even Dave agreed that they had more than outgrown it. But leaving was complicated for him. It was their first home away from Bro. So much had happened there. There was still a stain on the living room carpet from Rose spilling an entire Solo cup of red wine at her bachelorette party. Knowing full well they were never getting their deposit back, Dave had doodled countless tiny Hella Jeff faces strategically around the house, little gifts for the landlord to find when they did leave someday. He felt weirdly sentimental about a particular scorch mark on the stove from the first time he and Karkat tried to cook dinner together, when he accidentally lit an oven mitt on fire. Dave had gotten sober in that house, had his heart broken, fallen in love. It was sad to see it go, but after near two years of the four of them living together, the Striders finally agreed that they had heard their partners argue about who got first shower enough to last a lifetime. It was time to go.

The house they decided on was an old two-story duplex near John’s childhood neighborhood. The landlord was an elderly man, and hadn’t been able to keep up with the repairs so well after the gaggle of college students that lived there prior vacated the premises. The caveat was that rent was cheaper if they didn't mind doing some maintenance of their own, and Dave convinced him to give them free reign to do whatever they wanted to the walls, so long as they promised to paint over it when they moved out. Immediately, he and Karkat claimed the basement unit, John and Dirk the upper level. Always fans of high places, the Striders were excited to discover that there was roof access from Dirk and John’s bedroom window. Plus, there was a back yard, which the twins had never had. After signing the lease and watching their new landlord drive off down the block, both turned wordlessly and walked out into the yard to lie in the grass for a while. John was already planning to frame the photo of the two of them he snapped with his phone, looking uncharacteristically serene basking in the afternoon sunshine.

Moving day came, and as they often are, it was hectic. Bored of hearing John and Karkat argue over who got to keep what mugs in whose kitchen, Dave snuck away for some quiet. He loved them both dearly, but their chaotic energy on most days was already a lot. Today, it was at a fever pitch, and he could feel a headache burrowing its way into his left temple. Sometimes, when he really needed to focus, he liked to grab his laptop and a blanket and hole up somewhere that a grown adult shouldn’t be able to fit, put on his best noise cancelling headphones, and go to work. When they were children, his favorite thinking spot was sitting squished up between the wall and the side of a dryer in their apartment’s laundromat. Even in the Houston summertime, Dave enjoyed the hum and the heat, and the rhythm of clothes tumbling always had a way of getting him into a flow with whatever he was doing. Now, with all of their stuff in boxes, there weren’t as many great hiding places in his room anymore. So, the best place for him to isolate was in his closet.

“Striderrrrrr!”

Karkat’s voice was tinny and small through his headphones, and Dave knew he must have been fucking hollering in real life to reach him through the insulation and the distance. He lifted the right one off his ear. “Yes, dearest?”

“Don’t give me that shit, we’ve been yelling for you for like five minutes! Break is over, stop sitting on your ass and come help us!”

Dave rolled his eyes, saved his progress on the track he had been editing, and shut his laptop. As he picked through the labyrinth of moving supplies and out into the hallway, the scene wasn’t much different. Dirk’s bedroom door was open, the room beyond similarly empty and tidy. The kitchen was a disaster, rolls of bubble wrap and tape stacked on the counter and every dish and coffee mug laid out and ready to be boxed up. Karkat and John were waiting by the door, having dragged the couch over in preparation to haul it out to the elevator. 

“You’re interrupting my flow, ‘kat, not cool,” Dave whined as he approached. “Those sugar daddies aren’t going to spoil themselves, y’know.”

“If that’s how we’re able to afford this house, I’m calling the landlord and breaking our lease right now.”

“Dude, no,” John groaned. “Who knows who we’d get stuck with as neighbors then! Come on, let’s get this over with. We’ll all feel better when the heavy lifting is done!” 

“Where were you, anyway?” Karkat huffed.

Dave shrugged. “Closet. Where else?” 

John snickered as Karkat rolled his eyes. Dave held the door open, and the two of them hoisted the couch up again and shuffled it out into the hall. Then, with a good deal of swearing, they managed to cram it and themselves inside the elevator, but only barely. Dave couldn’t fit. 

“Meet you at the truck!” John called as the doors slid shut. 

Dirk was already waiting with the moving truck, sitting on the lowered ramp and talking on his phone as the three of them maneuvered the sofa out onto the sidewalk. He glanced up when he heard them approach, muttered a quick “Call you back,” and stood up to help them. 

Once everything was settled in and strapped down, Dirk stood back and surveyed the stacks of boxes inside. He had already been down here a while, meticulously organizing everything so as to minimize any possible damages, but it looked like he had gotten interrupted halfway through. Dave could tell he was still only half listening, the way he was gnawing on the inside of his cheek, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

“I think we have time for one more break before the rest goes in,” John said, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “If we want to get going before it gets dark.”

“Yeah,” Dirk nodded absently and against him. Dave wondered vaguely who had called him that he would actually pick up for. If there was one thing he knew about Dirk, it was that he absolutely hated talking on the phone. He’d seen him reject calls almost before the phone had completed a single ring, without so much as glancing at the screen. As if on cue, he tilted his head toward John, resting his head against his cheek. If John noticed he was in a weird mood, he gave no indication, beaming as he smooshed his face against Dirk’s like an affectionate (if sweaty and a little gross) cat. “Can y’all go on up and order some dinner? I gotta talk to Dave.”

“Pizza or Chinese?”

“Pizza,” Dirk and Dave chorused. 

As he and Karkat headed back into the building, Dirk pulled the door of the truck shut, turned to Dave, and crossed his arms over his chest stiffly. “So. That was Bro.”

“What did he want?”

Dirk shrugged. “He’s in town, apparently. Wants to see us.”

Dave stared, and Dirk stared back, perfectly neutral. “He wants to see _us_? Like, in meatspace?”

“Yup.”

“Why the fuck would he wanna do that?”

“No idea. I’m of half a mind to tell him to eat a dick and leave us alone, but I wanted to ask you first.”

Dave chewed his lip and thought about it. It had been a long time, now, since they had been in the same room as their guardian. He had eventually stopped calling, but living so close to where they had grown up, it was common that the boys found themselves on alert, wondering if he was going to pop out from behind a display at the supermarket and shove a puppet in their faces or something. It had never happened, and realistically, they knew it wouldn't. He travelled a lot, and they doubted he would carve out time in his busy schedule to terrorize kids he didn't want. But he was weird. It wasn’t far out of the realm of possibility with that dude. Dave rubbed at the scar on his forearm. “Do you think we should?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious,” Dirk admitted.

“How long do we have?”

“I told him we were busy this week. He said he’d wait.” 

Dave sighed. “Well. Let’s finish up here and call him back.”

***

“He doesn’t say a whole lot, does he?”

“No sir,” Bro replied. He tended to be soft spoken himself; even when he was angry, he stayed even-keeled. The boys had seldom heard him so much as raise his voice at them in their short lives, and if anyone had seen him pissed, they had. Dirk seemed to have gotten it from him. He was so quiet in public that some of the neighbors believed he couldn’t talk at all, even at the age of seven. Maybe it was because his twin did all the talking for the two of them. To some, it might seem that Dave was just hogging the spotlight, not giving his brother the chance to find his own voice, but really, the opposite was true. Dave knew he was uncomfortable with strangers, and used his gift of unstoppable gab to keep the pressure off of him. Besides, few got the right idea that he just preferred to listen. You hear an awful lot of interesting things when you just listen. 

“Gonna grow up to be one of them strong, silent types, I bet,” The man tending the counter was old, face wrinkled like well-loved leather. He smiled near constantly, the skin around his eyes would crinkle up and he would show off all his teeth. Dirk liked his smile; he saw it often enough, given that the boys and Bro visited this store a few times a week, and Danny was almost always watching the register. Sometimes, he returned it with a shy smile of his own. “Unsuspecting, till you try and fuck with him. Kind of like yourself, eh? Before you know it, he’s gonna be throwin’ punches just like his old man. Lord help you then.”

“Probably so,” Dirk wasn’t really listening, though he could feel Bro watching him. He was preoccupied already with the display of colorful blown-glass animals in the case that sat on the counter. “A pack of Camels, too, please.” 

“Bro, can I get this?” Dave bounded over, a bottle of apple juice clutched in his tiny hand. Bro nodded and handed it to the cashier. 

“Go get one for your brother, then.”

He scuttled off again, sneakers squeaking on the floor tiles, and reappeared seconds later with a bottle of Dirk’s favorite orange soda. He leaned over Dirk’s shoulder as the cash register buttons clattered, peering into the case of baubles with him. “I like that one,” he said, pointing at a little black crow. Dirk nodded and pointed at another bird, a rooster with a red-orange body and delicate green plumage. “That one’s cool. The orange,” Dave smiled. Dirk nodded again, smiling back.

“Pulls your total up to twenty-one fifty,” Bro handed him a crumpled twenty and a five. The man gave Dave a smile as he opened the register, which Dave acknowledged with a tiny nod before turning back to Dirk again. He was still entranced with the items in the case. “Even after all these years and all the trouble you get in, Strider, it’s funny. Never expected you to end up a daddy.”

“Hmm.”

When Bro didn’t answer beyond that, Danny looked the twins over again. “And boy, they look more like you every day. Probably ain’t gonna be quite your size. You were a big kid, even at their age.”

“Yeah. I hear that a lot,” Bro handed four quarters each of his change to the twins, and as they hurried to spend it, Bro tore open the cigarette cellophane and lit one with one of the Bic lighters displayed on the counter. He pocketed it, but if Danny noticed, he didn’t care. “They’re gettin’ tall, though.”

“Oh come on now, no smoking in the store, Strider, can’t you read?” Bro’s cigarette stayed lit, and there was a moment of amicable silence as Danny retrieved an old ash tray from under the counter. With a glance around to make sure they were alone in the little shop, he lit up one of his own. “They got those freckles of yours, too. And that white hair. If I didn’t know y’all any better, I’d say you bleached it.”

“Who says I don’t? Wouldn’t be the weirdest shit I’ve ever done.”

He laughed wheezily. “Well, boys? Is that the truth?”

Neither twin replied, too busy shoving their quarters into the slot of one of the little capsule prize machines along the front of the counter. The clerk shook his head fondly. “Boy, he is quiet.”

“Mhm.”

“Ain’t a bad thing, though. Silence is golden, they say. I’d say you got your hands plenty full of that other one, anyway,” he gestured at Dave, who was excitedly showing his brother the little capsule he’d just pulled from the machine. The toy inside appeared to be one of those sticky rubber hands. 

A hand, big and callused, ruffled Dirk’s hair as he silently presented Bro with his prize, a temporary tattoo of a sort of wonky-looking bald eagle. Bro gave him a smirk as he tucked it into his shirt pocket and gathered up his bag of groceries. “Yeah. See y’later, Danny.”

“Stay safe, Strider. And you too, boys. I’ll see y’all again. Hey, prop that door open on your way out, would you? Smells like a damn ash tray in here.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dave waved back at him as Bro steered them both out into the daylight. This part of town likely hadn’t seen fresh concrete since the day it was built; Dave did an odd little bob and weave maneuver to hop over the cracks, babbling to Dirk about something that Bro had tuned out. There were few people on the sidewalk as they walked up to the bus stop together, so Dirk noticed immediately that the two men sitting there were watching them approach. It was almost as if they had been expected. One was slim and gray haired, fanning himself with a wide-brimmed black hat. His companion was younger, and even sitting, it was obvious that he was a hulking refrigerator of a man. Both of them stared at Bro as they stopped next to the bench. The younger one cracked his knuckles pointedly.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Bro said with a nod. The men nodded back. Dirk shot Dave a look. He looked petrified and small, like he was trying to look invisible. He wiggled his hand out of Bro’s grasp, pushing his brother to hide behind their guardian. Both could feel a weird tension in the air; nonchalant as he still looked, Bro’s energy had changed, and they both knew him well enough to know that something was going on. In his head, Dirk was already mapping the route they would run as he put himself between Dave and the others protectively. 

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” Dave mumbled.

“Yes, you are. I can tell, ‘cause I’m scared.”

“Shh!”

As they peeked out nervously from behind their guardian, the older man stepped over to Bro. He had a greasy look to him, his hair and gaunt face glistening in the hot sun. He looked like the sort of old-school gangster Dirk had seen in movies, wearing an ill-fitting black suit, a plain, sensible hat, and an eye patch, with a long scar stretching from his hairline to his cheekbone across the covered eye. 

“Strider,” he hissed, pencil thin lips curling around the word like it put a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Noir.” Bro replied calmly.

“You got my money, boy?”

Bro’s shoulders tightened. “Not in front of my kids, Jack.”

“You think I give a fuck about your kids?” The man laughed. 

“Bro—" Dave said, but Dirk clapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head. 

Bro didn’t move to acknowledge them, standing his ground, but Jack leaned over slightly, peered around him at the twins, and gave them a wry grin. “Hello there, boys. What are your names?”

“Don’t,” Bro snapped, and Jack’s gaze slid to him again, still smiling eerily. “I’ll get you your cash, you slimy fuck. Leave them out of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he replied. Behind him, his counterpart got to his feet and loomed over his shoulder. The message was clear. He was taller than Bro, easily 6’5” or so, and twice as wide. If he wanted to fight, he would have to take on the muscle. “You know what it’ll cost if you don’t.”

“You’ll have it by tonight,” Bro said. “You have my word.”

Jack’s laugh was strange, like he was hacking up a hairball. He patted Bro on the shoulder. Too friendly. “Good. I’ll be waiting. The usual spot, but only ‘til midnight. After that, we’re gonna come looking. You have _my_ word on that.”

Dirk felt a wash of relief as the bus rumbled down the street, hissing to a halt at their stop. The two men continued to stare as the Striders boarded the crowded bus. Dave watched them out the window until they faded into the distance, Bro silent and still the entire time. Dirk could tell he was thinking, possibly even worried, but he put an arm around them both and squeezed, and he couldn’t help but feel soothed. It was rare for Bro to show affection at all, especially not in a physical sense. Best not to let the moment go by unappreciated. The twins were both still a bit riled up when they arrived at the apartment, but Dirk challenged Dave to a race up the stairs, and it was the distraction they both needed. They were laughing by the time they reached the landing, out of breath and shoving each other playfully. Dave had just slightly edged Dirk out and won, and Dirk was demanding a rematch. 

“Last one to the roof has to clean the winner’s room!”

“No way, I don’t wanna dust your gross animal jars!”

“Fine, winner gets to pick what game we play!”

Bro watched them for a moment as they took off to the roof stairs. Their arguing and scuffling echoed back down the hall to him, and he didn’t go inside until he heard the steel roof door slam against the wall. The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He made lunch for the boys, let them watch TV curled up against his side for a while as he dozed on the futon. They were glad for it; he didn’t even scold them when Dave tripped and knocked Cal off the counter while he and Dirk were roughhousing. Bro was being nice, affectionate even. It was a good day.

When he left that night, nothing seemed amiss, and both assumed he would be out there on the futon as usual in the morning. He wasn’t, though. The next time they saw him, almost a week later, he woke them up at five thirty in the morning, led them to the roof, and put a sword in each of their hands.

“I want you to try and hit me,” he said, taking up his own blade. Dirk watched the way his fingers curled around the leather-wrapped hilt and did his best to mimic it.

“Hit you?” Dave asked.

“Hit me.”

“Why?”

Bro’s posture shifted, like a cat ready to pounce. “Because the day you can hit me is the day you’re ready to defend yourself against anything.”

***

A few days later, Dave and Dirk drove across town to a Waffle House that Bro had frequented since they were little kids. As they pulled into the parking lot, Dave could see him, back to the window, wearing his stupid white polo and ball cap. It was noon, and it was fairly busy, but he stood out. 

“I honestly never thought we would have to see him again,” Dirk said, unbuckling his seatbelt. Neither of them moved to get out, just listened to the engine hiss and drip as it settled into slumber. “I always figured he’d just call once or twice a decade and pretend we don’t exist till the end of time, and then he’d just kinda wander into the woods and die.”

“Like Jaspers.”

Dirk snorted. “Yeah, exactly like Jaspers.” 

“We could go home,” Dave told him after a beat of silence.

“Yeah. We don’t owe him shit.” Dirk replied. 

“…But maybe it’s important. I mean, he is gracing us with his godly presence, after all.”

“…Yeah. I guess.”

“C’mon then. Lets get it over with.”

Side-by-side as usual, they entered the diner. Bro didn’t look up from where he was pretending to read the menu, but they knew he knew they had arrived. Likely, he had since the moment they’d pulled in. Dave approached the table first and just looked at him. Waiting to be acknowledged. 

“You gonna sit, or do you want a formal invite?”

“Well, if past actions are any indication, you’d flip shit on me for disobeying you,” Dave said, deadpan as he could muster. Dirk sat, and he slid into the seat beside him. “I’d rather not get grounded today, Bro. I’m going to the big dance later.”

“I don’t have time for your horseshit today. Lemme get a look at you little bastards,” he took off his glasses, hung them on his collar, and Dave froze, a deer in headlights, staring at his reddish eyes through the safety of his own tinted lenses. He was so casual about it. When they were children, they rarely saw his bare face. He was always guarded and solid, and they were never allowed to perceive him in any other way. For a long moment he gazed at them both, waiting patiently, and to Dave’s shock, Dirk removed his own shades delicately, setting them on the tabletop. He finally gave in and did the same, squinting a little in the harsh glow of the lights. Bro smirked, satisfied.

“Y’all really grew up quick, huh?” he said. 

“I suppose it would seem that way when you never see your kids, wouldn’t it?” Dirk snipped.

Bro shrugged it off and returned his attention to the menu. The waitress brought their coffees and took orders while Dave busied himself with pouring too many little half-and-half capsules into his mug. Dirk sipped his black for once, as if meeting some unspoken challenge from Bro to choke down the pure, unadulterated taste of burnt coffee grounds used a few times too many. Dave couldn’t bring himself to care, even when he could practically feel Bro’s judgement. Without an ungodly amount of sugar and milk, it tasted a little like boiled gym socks.

“So. What do you want?” Dirk asked.

“What do you mean, what do I want? I haven’t seen y’all in, what? Five years? Seemed about high time for a visit.”

“I mean you never reach out to us unless you want something,” Dirk replied flatly, holding his mug in front of his lips. “So come on, out with it. What do you want? We have things to do, too, you know. Every second you’re talking is a second we could be helping move a sofa, bro. It’s like the Property Brothers up in here right now. If we leave John to his own devices for too long, I’m likely to come home to a Nicolas Cage shrine in my closet. Or worse, the living room. Time is of the essence.”

Dave wanted to laugh, but he was trying to make himself invisible. Childish as he felt, Bro’s irritated look still got him. The elder Strider delicately set his chipped, brick-heavy diner mug on the table and reached into his pocket. The paper he slid across the table was, on closer inspection, an envelope with shaky writing in the address fields.

“What’s this?”

“Came to the apartment for you. Looks like a check from that shithole over on Smith.”

“What, you readin’ our mail now?” Dirk snapped, grabbing the envelope. 

“No, smartass. I worked there enough times, I know Carlotta’s handwriting. That woman’s worked there since the dawn of time.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. But you could have just mailed it. Is that all?”

“No,” Bro sighed, impatient. “No, that ain’t all. I figured I could take my sweet time giving you all this glorious fuckin’ exposition, but I guess you’d rather do the lightning round. I’m selling the apartment.”

Dave blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I got a job up north,” he explained. “In New York. The city, not the boonies like y’all are used to. Producing gig. So, I’m packing it in.”

“When?”

“I have to be in the state by next Friday.”

“Congratulations, I guess. Why should we care?” Dirk asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You shouldn’t really, I suppose. It ain’t like we chat much to begin with, and it’s been a minute since you asked me for money or anything,” Bro shrugged. “But there are a couple boxes of your shit that you left behind. I need it gone, so if you want it you can have it. If not, it’s going in the dumpster.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Dave spoke up before Dirk could shoot him down out of pride. They had left in such a hurry the first time they moved. He wondered what he would find in a time capsule of his childhood junk.

“Cool.”

Bro’s face was emotionless as he returned his shades to the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. “Y’know, I don’t expect either one of y’all to forgive me,” he said, cleared his throat. “I get it if you hate me. Hell, I’d hate me too. Believe it or not, I kinda already do. So I’m sorry. For being a shit parent. Or whatever.”

“Are you really?” Dave blurted.

His jaw tightened and flexed. He shrugged and picked up his fork again. The twins, realizing they weren’t going to get much more out of him, followed suit. It felt strange, hearing those words come out of his mouth. Dave didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He picked at his plate. Dirk managed to get down half of a waffle. Bro finished first, and without waiting for the twins to catch up, he picked up the bill and stood. 

"So this is it, then." 

Dirk sneered as he said it. He still hadn't put his glasses back on, and Dave could see fire in his eyes. "That's all you have to say?"

"Guess so."

He was practically trembling with anger. Dave couldn't remember seeing that look on him in years. “Okay. Well. Look. I know you could give a fuck less about either of us or how our lives are going and obviously this meeting is just for your benefit, but while we’re here, I’m gonna speak my fuckin’ peace, because we all know it isn't likely that we'll see each other again. You couldn’t be bothered to fucking take care of us properly. And Dave ended up so fucked up he couldn’t remember his name some days. He almost died, and you couldn’t even bother to drag your ass to the Dollar store and get him a goddamn get-well card? I fucking called you. I called, so many fucking times. You never answered. Did you even know?” he was raising his voice. Only their waitress was watching discreetly, as though she had seen enough fights before and was almost excited to see another. Bro was silent, still. Waiting it out. “Do we mean jack shit to you? I think I know the answer to that, but hell if I ain’t a glutton for punishment. I’ve always wondered. Why didn’t you just drop us off at the fuckin’ fire station and let the system sort us out? Why the fuck did you have to put us through that?”

“Is that what you would’ve preferred?” He asked. The tone in his voice sent a shiver down the back of Dave’s neck, like someone had dropped an ice cube down the collar of his shirt. “You’d rather I let you get bounced around from house to house and split up?”

“No,” Dirk finished quietly. “But we do wish you’d beat the shit out of us a little less, you dense motherfucker.”

“...Alright," Bro nodded. 

Dirk went red to the tips of his ears. "That's it? Just 'Alright?'" 

"What else do you want me to say, kid? I shouldn't have been that way. But I was. You said you wanted to speak your peace. You did that. Seems to me this transaction is over."

Dave watched as Dirk bit his tongue. Had they not been in public, he wondered what else he would say. Bro took his silence as acceptance and turned his back.

"I’ll be around till I’m not. If you ever want to come by, you know how to get home." and just like that, he was gone, handing the girl at the register some cash for the food before loping out the door into the parking lot. Dave watched him go as Dirk stared into his plate. He turned his gaze toward his brother again when he sighed deeply.

“You good, bro?”

Dirk nodded vacantly. “Yeah,” he said. “Would you believe me if I said I needed a drink?”

Dave blinked, snorting a burst of startled laughter. “Not really, but it’s a good thing you’ve got a driver for the day, miss Daisy.”

The two of them sat on the tailgate of the truck, a half-hour and a handful of miles later. Dirk disappeared into a gas station and returned with a pack of cigarettes, a six pack of beer, and a Diet Coke for Dave. Then they drove to the park near their house and set up camp so that Dirk could work his way through the six bottles. Dave couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen his brother drink; the first sip made him grimace and stick his tongue out, and Dave laughed. It was the exact face John had made when he tasted his first beer. He had thought Dirk would give up after that, but once he got going, he didn’t stop. He didn’t do it often; it was clearly a fear of his, the loss of control, the possibility of addiction being something he couldn’t shake, but Dave would be damned if he were going to bring up either point tonight. It would do the dude some good to loosen up, for once. And loosen up he did.

By the fourth beer, he was talkative. “Why's he always gotta do this shit? He could have just called. Could’ve just dropped that check in the mailbox. Or fucking kept it, for all I care!”

Dave stayed quiet and stubbed out his cigarette on the chipped paint of the tailgate. The irony of Dirk being the talker for once, and him clamming up about his feelings wasn't lost on him. Usually, Dirk was the one that had it all together, kept his cool. But Bro got under his skin more than anyone, and Dave thought it better to let his brother get out his rage while he could. It would give him time to process it himself.

He gesticulated with his hands as he went on, sloshed a bit of liquid onto the grass. “He had to make us haul our sorry asses all the way back here just to talk for ten minutes? He’s just doing it to get a rise out of us.”

“It’s working, ain’t it?” Dave laughed dryly and lit another cigarette. He offered it to Dirk, only half expecting him to accept. He made a face, first, but plucked it out of Dave’s extended fingers anyway, holding it awkwardly like it was a snake about to bite him.

“I fuckin’ guess,” he mumbled, swinging his legs as he took a puff and coughed. “God, these taste worse than I remember.”

“Isn’t this a good thing, when you think about it?” Dave asked, cocking his head. “He’s leaving. We don’t have to look over our shoulders anymore.”

“It’s not though. It’s not. It’s bad enough he basically abandoned us in the first place, but why does he think we give a shit now what he does? Like, he extends one fake ass olive branch one time, so maybe we’ll bury the hatchet and forgive him for all his bullshit? We going to have some big happy family reunion and get together for a fucking potluck like John’s folks someday? Bond about our miserable existences over some deviled eggs? Pass. He can’t even cook.”

Dave nodded along, trying not to let the discomfort show on his face. He felt conflicted about the whole situation, but it didn’t feel right to put in his two cents yet. Dirk’s posture sagged as he went on.

“Do you remember when we were kids, and he disappeared? The month of the hurricane?”

Another nod. Dave could still see the water rising, still feel the muggy heat of the apartment when the power went out. It made him want to ask Dirk to pass him the last bottle in the pack, but he swallowed the urge back with a swig of soda.

“He came home, and it was like nothing was wrong. We had no food, no help. Couldn’t even do our fuckin’ laundry ‘cause it was underwater. And he just sauntered back in like the place wasn’t on the verge of condemnation. We were the only fucking ones that hadn’t evacuated! And then—” He cut himself off, staring angrily at the ground. That was the night that Dirk broke his arm. “He didn’t even apologize then. So why should it mean shit to us now?”

Dave sighed, put his arm around his brother’s shoulders, and pulled him into a side hug. Dirk sounded so small when he said it, so broken down. How long had they lived in his shadow, even after the childhood idolization had worn off? Parents were supposed to love their children unconditionally, strive to protect them and see them cared for under any means necessary. Bro had done the bare minimum all their lives, and his apology felt flat, no matter how much they may want to believe he cared. He was doing what he always did: made them feel involved, noticed, only to disappear again.

“It shouldn’t,” he said, as Dirk smooshed his face against his shoulder pitifully. “Not really. But what good is it gonna do us to hold onto his shit forever?”

“…None, I guess.”

“We deserve to be happy, bro. He can go freeze his ass off in the great white north, for all I care. We always deserved better than him, and we can get it.”

The bottles emptied and deposited in the dumpster, Dave finally drove them home. He had shot John and Karkat a warning text when Dirk stood and nearly fell flat on his face, and John promised they would be on standby. When they pulled up to the house, the porch light was on, and he and Karkat were seated at the little patio table they had spent the afternoon putting together. John hopped to his feet and came around to the passenger door, and when Dirk saw him, his face softened, looking up at him in awe as if he had forgotten his boyfriend would be waiting for him at home.

“Oh, hi John,” for a moment, he almost sounded sober. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did, you doofus. Can you unbuckle yourself?”

He nodded, unclipping his belt and slowly turning to get out of the truck. “Cool. Can we have a potluck? I miss your dad’s cooking,” he slurred, draping his arms around his partner’s neck with all the grace of a newborn deer.

John looked confused but laughed and nodded along. “Sure. Whatever you want, dude. Here, god, your legs are like spaghetti. Just let me carry you.”

Dirk did as he was asked, letting John scoop him up bridal style. He was already starting to doze as they made their way upstairs, and Dave took that as his cue to leave. Karkat didn’t speak as he followed his boyfriend inside. He had barely gotten any details before they left, and knowing what he knew about Bro, he wanted to ask a million questions. He held it all in. When Dave hugged him, he just held him back, knowing eventually he would finish stewing on it and come to him to talk. After he’d gotten a meal on his stomach and convinced him to go take a shower, Karkat set up on the couch in front of some HGTV show that Dave liked to put on as background noise. Over the dialogue of the show, he could hear Dave singing, and took that as a good sign. 

Sure enough, when he finally shut the water off and emerged from the bathroom almost an hour later, he made a beeline straight for Karkat’s lap and laid across it, still damp and towel clad.

“So,” he said, running a hand through Dave’s wet hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah. Buckle in, ‘cause this bitch is goin’ off the rails faster than a faulty rollercoaster at Six Flags. That old man dancing to _Vengabus_ won’t know what hit him.”

Karkat smiled. “Consider me buckled.”


	9. Avalanche Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **  
> [When I'm out in the shop, faced to the forge I think of you, my love, as I tend to the coals  
>  Smiths with flames high in their eyes are all for show  
>  Dreaming, lying to themselves that they've bridled Hades  
>  A fire's that's good take patience, control  
>  Even bellow breathing this work is painfully slow  
>  But you must hold on because you'll taste the reward  
>  When that white iron draws out, just like it was painted](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1AGayYD0H8)  
>  **  
>  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! 
> 
> happy valentines day! i hope you all enjoy this chapter!

**_Chapter Nine_ **

Given the chance, Dave would always try to sleep in as late as he could. It was usually an easy feat to achieve, so long as Dirk and John weren’t too loud; Karkat was all but nocturnal, and unless someone needed him to be awake during the day, he wouldn’t be. Now that the move was complete and all they had left to do was unpack and Dave had spilled his guts on the entire meeting with Bro well into the early hours of the morning, they crawled into bed together with the intent to stay there until they absolutely couldn’t anymore. 

These plans were effectively dashed on the rocks when, around noon, there was a knock on their front door.

Karkat growled, nuzzling down into his boyfriend’s chest, and did his best to ignore it. The second knock was louder. Disgruntled, he looked up and squinted at Dave. “You expecting someone?”

Dave shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. “Goddamn Jehovah’s witnesses. G’back to sleep.”

A third knock. “Dave, get out here or I’m coming in.”

“Fuuuuck,” Dave huffed, climbing over Karkat’s still cursing form to get out of bed. 

“What?”

Dirk was standing on their doorstep, his laptop under one arm, a drink carrier full of coffee in the other hand. His shades were firmly in place, but Dave knew by the way he was holding his mouth and the dishevelment of his hair that he was not feeling 100%. He nudged past him into the house, heading straight for the dining table.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, neighbor?” Dave asked, yawning. “need to borrow a cup of sugar? Maybe a— “

“We have work to do,” Dirk said flatly, pushing a coffee cup at him. “You can’t sleep all day, bro. Didn’t anybody tell you that the grind never stops?”

Dave accepted it and sat. He knew he was being bribed; Dirk hated Starbucks, and the closest one was a good ways away. “Uh, last I checked, we were on vacation until next week. I’m tired from hauling all your fuckin' puppets up those stairs, so consider the grind stopped. Or postponed, at least. I’m going to have to give a raincheck to the grind.”

“Yeah, well, change of plans,” he had already opened the laptop and started clicking around, opening new programs. “I saw a flyer on the wall at the club the other night that got me thinking.”

“Always some interesting literature posted up there. Where’re we goin’? Bible study?”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but no. If we're lucky, though, we’re getting the hell out of Texas.”

Dave blinked at him in surprise. Usually, he was the one bemoaning their current geographical location. “…Alright,” Dave said slowly. “You got me. I’m listening. What’s your grand plan?”

“Well,” The familiar interface of sound editing software glowed in the reflection of his glasses, then a new browser window. “We’ve worked hard to get where we are. But I’ll be damned if we can’t do better. I know we can, I mean, shit, we’re better than anybody around here. We just need a little boost. Something to draw attention to what we do.”

“If only it was that simple,” Dave replied drily.

“Maybe it could be,” when he looked up, Dave was surprised to see an impish smile curling the corner of his brother’s lips. He spun the laptop to face Dave.

“You have to be joking.”

“A battle of the bands is absolutely not a laughing matter, Dave.”

The flyer on the screen was for submissions for a local contest. The event itself was a good six months out, but early entry was opening in two. The rules were simple: submit a sample for consideration, and if you made it past the initial screening, there were four rounds of eliminations at various venues around the state, ending with the final selections playing at a festival out in the desert. The winner got a recording contract, plus additional marketing materials and promotions. Dave’s interest was piqued, for sure, but his confidence didn’t match up. He nibbled on his thumb nail nervously as he read the fine print.

“We aren’t even a band," he said finally, pushing the computer back toward Dirk. "We’re just two dipshits with a decent record collection. If this were a movie, we would be laughed off the stage.”

“If this were a movie, we’d be the Katyanagi twins.”

He grimaced. “They got their asses kicked, Dirk. By Michael Cera, of all people.”

“Yeah, but they put on a damn good show, didn’t they?”

Dave rolled his eyes. "We all know I appreciate your harebrained schemes more than anybody. Really, I do. Well, except John, maybe. The guy is the grandmaster general of schemes and fucking japes. But fuck, dude, we just moved, and now we have to deal with Bro— “

Dirk sighed, putting his hands up. “I really don’t need the reminder right now. I get it. I know. But I can’t stay in Houston forever, and I refuse to live in his shadow. You were so gung-ho about finding our happiness and shit last night. Where’d that energy go? Or were you bullshitting?”

Dave bit his tongue. He knew he had touched a nerve. “Yeah, I know, I get that,” he began. “but I just think there are a lot of factors here you aren’t considering.”

“Like what exactly?”

“Like, how much fuckin’ work that’s going to be? Where are we gonna find the time to prep for something like that? And money, probably. The last round is like, six hours away, I don't think the truck will make it that far. Don’t you think we should take the time to think on this a little longer? Maybe next year?”

Now was Dirk’s turn to pause. He sighed and sat back in his chair, pushing his shades up into his hair. Dave could now see the frustration knitting his brows. “You’re right,” he said, massaging the bridge of his nose. “It was wishful thinking.”

Dave watched guiltily as his brother slumped over the table. The shadows under his eyes were dark, and he looked deeply exhausted, wrung out from years of struggling to stay afloat. He knew Dirk well enough to know that this was eating at him. Likely, it had been for ages, now, but he'd just pushed it down and kept it to himself.

“I still want to get out of here, dude," he said. "But I don't know if I'm ready to do some shit like this. And what about John? And Karkat? We can’t just ask them to uproot and move across the country from their families. I mean, Karkat’s dad calls him like ten times a day, I can’t take him from— “

“Christ,” the voice behind them made them both jump. Karkat was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a white t-shirt with a faded record logo, boxers, and fluffy, Pepto-Bismol pink socks. He clearly was still only half awake, one hand still pawing the sleep from his eye. “You both have such a flair for the fucking dramatic.” he approached the table and plucked one of the coffees out of the holder.

“That one’s John’s,” Dirk pointed out as Karkat took a sip and immediately made a repulsed face.

Dave frowned at his brother. “You couldn’t host a family meeting at your own apartment?”

He shrugged. “Knew you two wouldn’t ever wake up if I didn’t bring the party right to you.”

“Well if you asked nicely—”

“Shut up, both of you,” Karkat grumped, grabbing the proper cup. “Dirk, we’ve been over this, visiting hours are from four to four unless otherwise posted. John,” Dave turned, and discovered John just letting himself into the apartment. “Stop getting whatever the hell this is, it’s gross.”

“Dude, did you put your nasty Dave mouth on my latte?” he whined.

“I take offense to that,” Dave mumbled into his own cup.

“Me too. Eat shit, Egbert. Or drink it, because that’s what this tastes like. And Dave,” he rested a hand on Dave’s back, comforting in spite of his tone. “If you think I’m going to say no to a chance to move out of this god forsaken state for the first time since infancy, you should consider getting your head examined. How many times have we been over this now? I could be in Antarctica, ass deep in snow and emperor fucking penguins, and my dad would still find a way to get ahold of me and tell me about his day at work.”

“Yeah, me too,” John said with a grin. “The west coast is great! And we would be closer to Jade. I miss her a lot. Plus, how cool would it be if you two got famous? Karkat, we would be rock star boyfriends! Doesn’t it sound glamorous?”

“I don’t think ‘rock’ is really the word for what they do, but sure.”

“Whatever! You guys could have your stuff on the radio and everything!” John plopped down in a chair across from Dave. “I know I used to tease you about your raps and stuff when we were kids, Dave, but you’re, like, really, genuinely good at this. You’ve worked so hard! I think you two could win it.”

Dave felt his face turning red to the tips of his ears. “Well thanks, man,” It was sweet that they were so confident, but it was a lot of pressure. He couldn’t resist the urge to bite his thumbnail as he turned to Dirk. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure,” Dirk shrugged. “We just have to have an absolutely baller track finished in time for submissions by September.”

And though he was still nervous, Dave cracked a crooked grin. “That much I could do in my sleep.”

***

In life, things don’t always go to plan.

Dave was well acquainted with this knowledge. Almost nothing in his life had ever gone smoothly, and that had just become standard. Countless hiccups had left him resourceful, able to look at problems from a variety of angles and jump through hoops, usually coming out unscathed at the opposite side. When he fell on his ass, he got right back up and kept going, even when everything in him told him to just give up.

The closer he got to the end of his twenties, the more he thought about how different his future had once looked. When he was freshly eighteen and headed off to college, he had thought he would be hanging artwork in galleries around the globe by now, making hoity-toity old rich men pretend they understood the significance behind whatever he put on the canvas. One night, while rummaging through his closet, he found his box of old paints shoved into the back corner. He realized that all the bottles and tubes were coated with thick dust, and that he couldn’t remember the last time he had touched a brush.

“So you aren’t doing the digital media program?” John asked curiously. It was the summer before senior year, and the two of them spent practically every waking moment they weren’t at summer jobs or on college tours with Mr. Egbert goofing off. It was, Dave had said, probably the last entirely free summer they would get. They should cherish it.

“Nah,” he replied, plunking down to sit on his skateboard. After his hip injury, he hadn’t been able to do much of anything athletic, and his balance was terrible the first time he’d gotten back on his board. With some practice, he was getting back to his old self. He had been trying to re-learn how to do a kickflip all day, and the hot sun was turning his nose and shoulders rosy. “That would be too easy.”

“What does that even mean? Do you really want to bring your ironic dudebro horseshit into what determines the rest of your career?”

“Harsh, Egbert. What I mean is, I don’t think I should limit myself. I’ve been doing digital work my whole life now. I think I was born with a fuckin’ tablet pen in my hand. It’s time to polish some other skills,” he straightened his back and donned a stern, fatherly affectation. “College is about broadening your horizons, son. Use this time of self-discovery to learn everything you can. I am so, so proud of you.”

“Ugh, stop. You’re getting too good at that, it’s weird,” John threw his water bottle at Dave. He caught it as it whapped against his chest and drained the last of it. “I’m just saying…I don’t really see how you go from deep fried JPEGs to fine arts. What was that class you told me about again?”

“Old Masters Techniques in Oil Painting.”

“Right. That.”

“Well,” he shrugged, giving John a sly grin. “First of all, it’s rude of you to insinuate that I haven’t been making fine art this whole time. Wouldn’t you like to see an eight foot hand-stretched canvas of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff bunping fists hanging in the MoMa one day?”

John laughed. “Yeah, okay, that would be pretty great. DaVinci would be kickflipping in his grave.”

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t a bad thing, that his direction had changed. He liked the way things were going. That was an understatement-- he was happier than he had ever been, lugging his own stage equipment, getting home way too late and collapsing into bed beside Karkat. Every day that Dave opened his eyes to the sound of his partner’s snoring, he counted himself lucky. He loved everything about the man, his short temper, his abysmal taste in cinema, his intense, unwavering loyalty. The way he snorted when he laughed too hard, and the way he practically melted when Dave ran his fingers through his curly hair. They argued, but Karkat, bless his stubborn heart, refused to go to bed angry, and would insist on hashing things out until they eventually fell asleep again, twisted up together until the heat forced them to opposite sides of the mattress. 

“Honestly, if you told little Dave that someday he would get a goddamn fairytale romance, he would probably be a tool about it. Say some flippant bullshit about getting hoes, maybe pepper in a gay joke for flavor. But he sure as hell wouldn’t believe it.”

Rose chuckled. She was the host of their monthly movie night-slash-sleepover, and the two had spent the day in a nest of pillows and blankets on the living room floor, pajamas on. By then, it was getting late. The sun had long since set, and Queen of the Damned was playing on the TV before them. Rose wore a mud mask that Dave had lovingly informed her made her look like “Shrek’s gayer, more fashionable doppelganger.” She had responded by smearing a coat of the same mask on his own face before he could stop her. He had tied his shaggy bangs back with one of Kanaya’s loveliest silk scarves and was trying his hardest not to fidget as his cousin painted his nails a lovely glittery maroon. 

“Yes, knowing past Dave as well as I do, I am sure he would have something quite lovely and well considered to say about his burgeoning homosexuality,” she agreed seriously. “He likely also would have spewed something inspirational about committing to the bachelor lifestyle, because, quote, ‘bros before hoes, Rose.’”

“Fuck, how could I have forsaken the bro code? Look at me, Lalonde, what am I becoming?” He pretended to faint.

“A surprisingly well-adjusted adult, I’m afraid. Hold still,” she said with a smirk, finishing up the final nail on the first hand, and gesturing for Dave to swap. He did, blowing gently on the wet paint. “I never thought I would say those words about you. If it wouldn’t destroy your manicure, I might ask you to pinch me.”

“Hah, yeah, I’ll get to that in a cool ten. Dirk is gonna be jealous as hell, this color owns.”

“I picked it out just for you.”

“I’m honored, Rosie.”

She grinned to herself. “I am happy for you, you know. Truly.”

“Thanks. Not to stroke your ego or anything, but that kind of means a lot, coming from you.”

She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Y’know, it’s like if Michael Jordan walked up while I was shooting goals and told me I was doing a good job. Like, getting a big thumbs up from the big man himself on my immaculate hoop game. I might even make goalie someday.”

She grimaced. “Dave, we’ve talked about this. No sports metaphors. You can’t make them work.”

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Whatever. My point is, you and Kanaya are like…well, for lack of a better term, relationship goals? Like, you two met, and it was like one of Karkat’s goddamn Cusack movies. I’ve never seen two people love each other that much. And, again, try not to let your head get big over this, but I was always kind of…jealous, I guess?”

She laughed. “Well, I’m flattered. But we are far from perfect, you know. You have heard the stories. Hell, you were there. Kanaya and I work well together, yes, but we have worked awfully hard to get where we are.”

Dave nodded knowingly. Rose, despite being the youngest, had definitely grown up the fastest. She was the first to find a successful career, the first to get married, and the first to seek treatment. The first through the ringer. Kanaya had been a big part of that; while she was mostly very mild-mannered and polite, Kanaya was also very strong-willed, and fiercely protective. When Rose was at her lowest, she pushed up her sleeves and hauled her back to her feet. Sitting across from him now, she looked such a far cry from that Rose. Back then, she sometimes looked as though she was withering away under all the pressure and the stress in her life. Now, she had grown strong again, and she practically glowed from within. She finished painting his nails and screwed the cap back on the bottle of polish. The two of them leaned back against the sofa in silence for a while, occasionally quipping back and forth over the movie. 

“I really love him,” he said, gazing down at the paint on his nails like it was the most interesting thing in the room. “More than I thought I could love somebody, like, romantic ways.”

Rose hummed and bumped his shoulder with her own. “I can tell,” she said, shooting him one of her Lalonde trademarked Knowing Looks. “And he does fit in nicely with our little band of misfits. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dave nodded. “Yeah, see, this is what I mean, about the cheesy rom-com shit. Maybe I’ve just watched enough of them over his shoulder by now, maybe they’ve flesh-eating-parasited their way into my brain and made me develop a sixth sense for sappy shit, I don’t know. But I honest to god feel like he’s the weird, wonky-edged chunk of the puzzle that was missing from my life. Like, he could be yelling at me, and I’d be like ‘Yep. That one. He’s the one I want nagging at me to pick my towel up off the bathroom floor until we’re ninety.’”

“That’s…sweet,” she said. “Though you really shouldn’t need to be told to pick up your laundry at this point in your adult life.” 

“Not the point, but I hear you,” He smirked, turning his gaze to the TV. The credits had started to roll, now. He chewed the inside of his lip, thinking. “So…” he began, and stopped again.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh no, don’t pull that with me, Strider,” she chided, squinting her violet eyes at him. “You know as well as I do that you’re going to tell me what you’re thinking. Out with it.”

“Jesus, Rose. Give me the third degree, why don’t you.”

“David.”

“Alright, god, mom, don’t full name me,” he muttered, rolling his eyes again. “I was just. Wondering.”

“About?”

“About…When did you know when you wanted to marry Kanaya? Like, was there some shining beacon of light that shined down on her and told you it was time? A weird naked cherub floating down on a cloud to whisper it in your ear?”

Rose tapped her lower lip, thinking. “We were at the DMV.”

Dave laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all,” she replied, resting her chin on her hand and smiling dreamily. “Kanaya lost her driver’s license. Not that she uses it much, really, but she needed it for something, and she asked me to go with her to get a new one. While they were setting up to take her photo, she looked incredibly nervous. You know how she gets in crowds, sometimes, bless her soul, and it was busy that day. I wanted to comfort her somehow, but we were across the room from each other. When she and I made eye contact, I made a face at her. She laughed right as they took the picture. The old woman waiting next to me leaned over and told me that my wife had a beautiful smile. It was all I thought about for the next week. And the best state-issued identification photo I've ever seen, if I may say so, though I am a little biased.”

“Rose, that’s…disgustingly sweet.”

“Oh, I am well aware. If I wrote it in a novel, my editor would quit on the spot. I can hear her now. ‘Rose, this simply must be deleted. It sounds like the climax of a rejected hallmark movie. Publish it, and I walk,’” They both laughed at her impression of her old friend-slash-editor, Aranea, who often called and spent entirely too long rambling about the changes she thought needed to be made. Rose typically put her on speaker and continued about her day, half listening and hmm-ing affirmatively at what seemed to be appropriate times. “Why do you ask?”

Dave shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “It’s a little weird to me, is all. Like, you just knew? Without a doubt?”

“It was simply a confirmation of a fact,” she said. “I already knew I loved her unconditionally. There had been countless moments prior where I would look at her doing the most mundane things, and I would feel as though my heart was too big for my chest. The sight of her watering her plants would be enough to make me go weak in the knees. Though to be honest, it still is.”

“Reign it in, Dickinson.”

“You asked.”

As Rose began gathering up her manicure supplies, Dave was lost in thought. He understood what she meant; he had had plenty of moments over the years where Karkat had left him at a loss for words. He never tired of coming home to him, burrowing into his arms and demanding attention. When they got separated from each other, he always sought him out in the crowd, whether they were in the supermarket or on stage. He noticed the way Karkat softened and lit up when they found each other again, the way the prickly exterior he had maintained for so long all but disappeared where Dave was concerned. They made an incredible team, really; It had taken a lot of practice, a lot of false starts, but it had long since reached a point where Dave knew he didn’t want to imagine a life without Karkat. He wanted him at his side for as long as he was willing to stay, and he felt confident in the knowledge that Karkat felt the same.

“I don’t know what size ring he wears,” Dave blurted out.

Rose looked surprised for a beat, before her lips curled into a devious smirk. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Dunno how to go about finding that out in a subtle way. Any tips?”

“Well… Perhaps we can fabricate an excuse for Kanaya to take his measurements.”

Dave grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks, Lalonde.”

“Any time, Strider.”

As Dave was getting ready to camp out on the couch for the night, Kanaya flounced down the stairs, radiant as ever even in patterned, billowy pajama pants and one of Rose’s old emo band shirts. Rose called her over.

“Darling,” Rose said, as Kanaya ducked her head gracefully to peck her on the lips. “I’m afraid you owe me dinner.”

She and Dave shared a confused look, and then something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh my. Really?”

“Not quite yet, but soon.”

“Uh, what am I missing and why do I feel like it’s at my expense?”

Kanaya’s face split into a broad grin, and she clasped her hands together in excitement. “Forgive me, but Rose and I may have had a bet about which of you would propose first. No offense to you, Dave, but my money was on Karkat.”

He couldn’t help but grin back. “None taken. But hey, if we’re giving out free dinners, I want in.”

“I suppose that’s only fair.”

***

He knew as soon as Dirk left that first morning that he was overthinking it. Dirk kept it to himself, and didn’t press or fuss or meddle, but Dave knew him well enough to see it was bugging him that he hadn’t given an answer one way or the other yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it. It was just nerves. He rolled over every likely scenario in his head; sure, if they did poorly, it would be a blow to the ego, but they would move past it. They wouldn’t lose anything. No harm, no foul. He was almost more afraid of the alternative.

“When we were getting attention last time, that’s when shit got bad for me,” he explained, picking at a stray thread on the sleeve of his shirt. Denise was listening, legs crossed, hands in her lap. Not taking notes, this time. He had been over this before. “I wasn’t used to that many people wanting something I had to offer. I always played it cool when I was younger, like I didn’t care how people thought of me. But I was a weird kid. Not very well liked. The attention went to my head.”

“Understandable. Humans are social creatures, after all. We seek validation from those around us.”

“I guess so,” he sighed, leaning his chin into his hand. “It was hard to tell people no. They offered me shit, and it was. A reward, I guess? So I took whatever they gave me, and I was grateful for it. Like yeah, of course, I blew your fucking mind. I worked hard. I deserve to have a good time.”

“Dave,” she asked, head cocked. “What are you afraid of in this context?”

She asked, but he knew she knew. She just wanted him to vocalize it. “I’m afraid the first time a drunk college kid offers me some molly, I’ll take it before Dirk can slap it out of my stupid hand and we’ll be back where we started.”

She smiled tightly. “Do you think you would do that?”

It was coming up on four years since he had so much as had a drink, and though there were always days that he would feel the hunger more than others, it was less a roar and more of a low growl these days. He had been back at nightclubs and bars for ages now, walked in on countless strangers doing drugs in countless bathrooms, and he had resisted every urge. But then, so few of them had offered. “I don’t know.”

Denise nodded, uncrossed, and recrossed her legs. He wouldn’t look her in the eye, instead mapping the steady beat of her foot as she bobbed it gently. “Do you want to know what I think?”

He snorted. “That’s what I’m paying you for, ain’t it?”

Another smile, more genuine and toothy this time. “I think you have better support now, and better equipment. Back then, you had never been in counseling, and you had been through a lot of hardship. You were essentially coping alone.”

“But what if...what if even with all I’ve learned I still fuck it up?”

“Well, Dave, I can’t say with a certainty that nothing will ever change,” she agreed, tapping her pen on her lower lip. “But you have been doing remarkably, all things considered. There’s always going to be what ifs. You know that if you do slip someday, you have help, don’t you? All you have to do is ask.”

He rolled that conversation around in his head all week, spacing out at his computer, turntables, even at dinner. Karkat eventually took notice, stopping mid-rant when he realized that Dave was staring blankly at the wall.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Hm? Nothing, sorry,” he set his fork down.

Karkat’s eyebrows knit together. “Bullshit. you dropped a bite of food halfway to your face. It landed on your lap and you didn’t even blink.”

“How do you know if I didn’t blink?” he tapped the arm of his shades.

“Honestly, Strider, if you think those fool me anymore, you’re dumber than Vanessa.”

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

The smirk Karkat gave him was one of smug self-satisfaction. “You’d know if you were actually listening to the story I was just telling.”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “You’re right, I wasn’t paying attention. I’m listenin’ now, start over?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Not important. Some girl that tried to get into the bar with a fake ID, but the picture was of Vanessa Hudgens. Like, on the red carpet and all. It was a whole ordeal.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” he snorted and shook his head. “Seriously though. What are you so distracted by?”

He hesitated. “I’m going to do it. The contest. I talked to Denise about it today.”

“Well, I figured. But you still have your reservations about it.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he leaned back in his chair, face softening as he crossed his arms over his chest. “tell me about it.”

They sat at the table, food getting cold as Dave unpacked his emotional suitcase. It was a messy affair as always; he babbled and talked himself in circles, dumping half-formed thoughts and fears like dirty socks and crumpled t-shirts all over the house. He noticed, though, as he did, that Karkat, in spite of his tendency to fly off the handle himself, was incredibly good at the organization necessary to keep up with him. He listened until Dave finally stopped, surprised to find that he had nothing left to say. Karkat nodded thoughtfully, took a deep breath, and shrugged.

“Well, she’s right,” he said. “All you have to do is ask. It doesn’t even have to be me. You have an entire support system. But if you’re worried that I can’t hang, you’re sorely fucking mistaken, Strider. I’m in this for the long haul.”

Dave shook his head. “How the fuck do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You just...always know what to say, I guess.”

Karkat shrugged. “I wasn’t always like this. I was an angry, emotionally stunted little motherfucker for a long time.”

“Oh, so this is an improvement? I bet you were a fucking terror as a kid.”

“Fuck you,” Karkat scoffed, but he smiled. “I was. Dad made me go to anger management for a while, y’know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I needed it, after the whole thing with…Well. Everything. One time, Gamzee made me so mad I punched my locker, and somehow it slashed the fuck out of my hand. Dad had to give me a bunch of stitches,” he grimaced. “Threatened to send me to Catholic school if I didn’t go to classes. And he was right. They worked. I’ve just got more practice processing my emotions, I guess. No offense.”

Dave smiled. “None taken. It’s good that one of us is.”

Karkat took his hand and squeezed reassuringly. Dave leaned against his shoulder and admired their interlaced fingers. 

“I mean it, though. Anything at all.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I trust you.”

And really, that meant more than “I love you” ever could.

***

They put it off for as long as they could. 

Dave thought about just giving up, about saying fuck it and just leaving it behind. But Dirk reminded him that a week had passed since they saw Bro, and that if they were going, it was now or never. 

He wasn’t answering the phone, but that wasn’t anything new. They went anyway, driving down familiar streets until finally, the high-rise was in view. Dave parked the truck and leaned forward on the steering wheel, looking up at the building.

“Still as shitty as always,” Dirk said, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Dave replied. “Need a minute?”

“Nah. Lets go.”

The lobby was mostly the same, too, but as they headed for the stairwell, Dirk grabbed Dave’s sleeve. “Hey, check that out.”

Dave looked up at where he was pointing and laughed. Down the hall, the elevator, which had been busted for as long as they could both remember, had been fixed. It almost seemed to glow majestically under the flickering bulbs.

“Should we?” Dirk gestured with faux grandiosity toward the stainless-steel doors. 

Dave laughed. “Shit, we kind of have to, don’t we? We’d be missing out if we didn’t. Our first and last ride, really leaving this dump in style.”

It was weird, stepping out onto their floor. The hall still looked the same, lights flickering and carpet stained. They walked side-by-side, Dave with his hands in his pockets, until they reached the door. Dave tried the knob. 

“Locked.”

Dirk wordlessly pulled his keys out of his pocket. The orange paint on the key had long since chipped down to the silver beneath, but it still turned the lock. The battered door swung open, revealing the living room cast in shadow. Dave felt his stomach twist, but he stepped inside and flicked on the light.

“He home?”

“Don’t look like it,” Dave said, stepping into the living room. The door shut behind them with a click, and Dirk turned the lock again as he looked around.

The place was just like they remembered it, only emptier. It was half gutted already, only a few boxes nudged into corners here and there, the TV and the computer long gone. There was an empty pizza box open on the counter. Puppets still littered the floor, and the shaggy old blanket Bro had used for at least a decade was folded neatly over the back of the futon.

“Jackass still won’t buy a bed,” Dirk muttered, kicking a stray Smuppet. “You know he has enough money for something nice. Motherfucker probably gets nice hotel rooms and sleeps on the coffee table. He’s pushing fifty, how has his spine not just killed itself?”

“Wonder what he did to our rooms?” Dave mused, already moving down the path to the hallway as if pulled by a magnet. 

“Did he say where he put our shit?”

“Nah, that’d be too easy. Split up?”

“Sure. Let’s Scooby Doo it in this bitch.”

They headed down the hall, hesitating outside their respective bedrooms. Dirk stepped inside his first, but Dave hesitated, hand on the knob. He half wondered if Bro was in there, waiting to get the drop on him. Wouldn’t be the first time. But he shook it off, turned the handle, and stepped inside. 

It was as empty as he had left it. If Bro had done anything to it while he was away, it had been packed away now. He walked to the middle of the room and stood, hands on his hips, taking it in. There was the corner where his bed had once sat, and there were still faint marks on the floor where the cinderblocks of his desk had shifted and scuffed. Once, there had been clotheslines pinned full of pictures crisscrossing from the ceiling, posters and drawings covering near every inch of the walls. If he squinted, he could still see their outlines faded into the paint. 

He walked to the window and shimmied it open, peered out; down below, he could just pick out his truck parked on the street. For a while, he watched vehicles crawl by like ants. It felt like he was fifteen again. He patted his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, blowing the smoke out the open window while he leaned on the sill. 

Behind him, the door opened again. He turned his head to find his brother standing there, an orange Jansport backpack over his shoulder. He recognized it with an odd pang of nostalgia as the one he’d carried through all of middle and high school. He’d assumed it had gone to the garbage years ago, and maybe it should have. The poor thing had been patched back together so many times, it was a miracle it could still carry anything.

“It looks so weird in here,” he said, crossing to stand at the window with Dave. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my room, like, actually clean. Did you know we had carpet?”

“Yeah. Feels like when I got grounded that time and he took all my shit except for the mattress,” Dave scoffed. 

“It’s kinda creepy to know someone else is gonna be living here,” Dirk leaned his shoulder against the wall beside Dave, looking down at the street with him. “Maybe their kids will befriend the crows like you did.”

Dave smiled. “Maybe, yeah.”

“Wanna go pay them a visit? See if they remember you?”

Dave considered it, but the thought of the rooftop made his stomach sour with nerves. “Nah. we should probably go before he comes home.”

“Sure. Found the boxes, they’re out by the door.”

“Did you open them?”

“Yeah, just for a minute. There’s some film in there.”

Dave perked up at that. “Really?”

“Mhmm. Several rolls. Bet there’s some real gems on them. The John braces era. Your fuckin emo shag haircut, too. That’s starting to make a comeback, I see,” he ruffled Dave’s hair until he swatted him away. “We’ll have to set you up a darkroom at the new place sometime. Been a while since you’ve had one.”

He smiled and flicked the butts off the windowsill, watching them tumble through the air. It had always been a little busted, but with a practiced tug he pulled the window shut and wiggled the latch to lock it. He wasn’t sure if it was even meant to be opened in the first place. Not very safe this high up. With one last look out, he turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, taking in the room one last time. It was then that he noticed that there were still marks on the back of his door. He walked over and touched them gently with his fingertips. “dirk, age 9” “dave, age 11.” they’d marked their own heights over the years, in a million different colors of ink. The sight of it made his throat tighten. When Bro was gone, it would be painted over, like they had never been there. He entertained the idea of taking the door with him, as a last fuck you to Bro or the realtor or someone, but that would be ridiculous. Instead, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and snapped a few pictures.

“You ready?” Dirk asked. He was trying to cover it up, but Dave could hear the twinge of concern in his voice.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping out into the hall. He scooped one box up off the floor, Dirk the other, and the two of them locked up their childhood apartment one last time. The turning of the latch felt like a chapter closing, the ending of a book that had been a brutal and heart-wrenching read. Dave was ready to return it to the library and put it behind him. Leave a scathing one-star review on Goodreads, maybe. Rose would be proud.

As he started the truck, he heard Dirk inhale sharply beside him, startled. When he looked up, there was Bro, standing at the passenger window. Dirk rolled it down.

“Y’all really cut it close,” he said, smirking. “I was gettin’ ready to get the last of it and get the hell outta here.”

“Perfect timing, as always,” Dave shrugged. “So you’re gone?”

He nodded. “Bout time, ain’t it?”

“Guess so.”

“Well,” Dirk said. “guess we’ll be seeing you.”

“Maybe,” Bro nodded. “Take care of yourselves.”

As they drove home, they were quiet, letting the radio fill the silence. Dave drummed his fingers to the beat on the old steering wheel, and Dirk kept his eyes on his phone. As they pulled into the drive, he reached out and grabbed Dave’s arm tightly.

“Dude.”

“What? Jesus, you nearly gave me a—“

Dirk shoved the phone at him. He took it and squinted at the screen. An email glowed up at him.

_Congratulations! Your submission has been accepted for the third annual—_

“Oh my god,” he said, stunned.

“We got in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please leave kudos or a comment!


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